
4 i^^^4 



I •• 






THE MERRY MUSE 

SOCIETY VERSE 1!Y AMERICAN WRITERS 



THE MERRY MUSE 

SOCIETY VERSE 
BY AMERICAN WRITERS 



EniTED BY 



ly 



ERNEST DE LANCEY PIERSON 

K.litor of "Society Verse" ; Author of "Shadow of the Rr.r- 
"A Slave of Circumstances," etc. 



NE]V AND ENLARGED EDITION 




CHICAGO. NEW YORK, AND SAN FRANCISCO 

UELFORD, CLARKE & CO. 

Publishers 

London: H. J. Drane, Lovell's Court. Paternoster Row 



\% 



-pi 



M 



COI'YIJKillT, 1SS9. 

];ELFor.D, C'laiikp: s-. (•o:\ii'.\\v 



TO 

Mrs. JAMES BARROW 

("AUNT FANNY") 



rKEFA TOR Y XOTE. 

Thefricndly rcCiptio-n of " Society Verse, by .liiwrircvi 
Writers,''' has encouraged the editor to prepare this 
larger and more representative collection, no7C' piddi sited 
under the title of ' ' The Merry Muse. ' ' 

In a country -cohere Pan is fast iiecoining a household 
divinity, it has been found impossible to collect in one 
volume specimens by all the scholars in this merry school 
of song. A sufficient selection has been- made to display 
zvhatever variety of style and subject is to be found in the 
best vers de societe by American Writers. 

The rules /hat govern lohat is called the ''Patrician 
Poetry " of the Old World cannot properly be applied to 
these lively lyrics of the Avri'. And yet ndiat our aver- 
age verse lacks in polish and dignity of expression is 
more than atoned for ly the spirit of native humor that 
pervades nearly e7\-ry line. 

It has been thought best not to hold any reserved seats 
in this symposium of singers. 

Here broivn heads and gray are grouped democratically, 
and it is to be hoped amicably , together. May their pleas- 
ant pipings stir a responsive and sympathetic chord in 
the public'' s feelings and finances, is the siiicere laish of 
the subscriber. 

PR.VE.'^T DE lANCEY PIER SON. 
xVt'Ti' York, yanuary 12. 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 

The editor would ackiiowlcds^e the courtesy of the fol- 
lowing publishers in allowing the use of valuable copy- 
rights: — To Messrs Charles Scribuer's Sons, selections 
from "Airs from Arcady," by H. C. Bunner ; Cassell 
& Company, selections from " Oberon and Puck," by 
Helen Gray Cone, and "Pipes from Prairie Land," by 
Minnie Gilmore ; D. Lothrop & Co., selections from 
"With Reed & Lyre," by Clinton Scollard, and " Post- 
l,aureate Idyls," by Oscar Fay Adams ; Ticknor &Co., 
for selections from "Vagrant Verse," by Charles 
Henry Webb, and " Songs and Satires," by J. J. Roche ; 
Roberts and Brothers, for " Proven9al Lovers," by 
E. C. Stedman, from "The Masque of the Poets"; 
Henry Holt & Co., selections from "A Midsummer 
Lark," by W. A. Crofut ; Keppler & Schwarzmann, 
for verses by C. C. Starkweather, Madeline Bridges. 
R. K. Munkittrick, Gertrude Hall, and A. E . Wa- 
trous ; Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for selections from 
the works of John G. Saxe, Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
Bret Harte, and Edmvuid Clarence Stedman ; Har- 
per and Brothers, for " De Convenance, " by Mrs. M. 
P. Handy, "A Kiss," by Joel Benton and "One of 
the Pack," by George Parsons Lathrop, in the " Monthly 
Magazine" ; "The Judge" Publishing Company, for 
verses by DeWitt Sterry ; Porter and Coates, for se- 
lections from "Mask and Domino," by David L. 
Proudfit ; Cupples, Hurd & Co., for selections from 
" Songs at the Start," Louise Guiney ; The Cosmopoli- 
tan Magazine Company, for verses by Duffield Osborne 
and Edith Tupper ; and The Century Company for the 
following poems from "The Century" Magazine: 
"Marjorie's Kisses," " Time s Revenge. "and "On the 
Fly-Leaf of a Book of Old Plays," by Walter Learned: 
"To MrsCarlyle, " and "The Message of the Rose," 
by Bessie Chandler ; " Her Bonnet, " by Mary Wilkins ; 
"The Fair Copyholder, " by Charles Crandall ; " Le 
Grenier, " by Robertson Trowbridge ; " In Winter, " by 
Louise Chandler Moulton ; "The Morning After," by 
Harold Van Santvoord ; "Last July, " by Sophy Lav.-- 
rence ; "In Arcadia," by R. T. W. Duke; "Two 
Triolets," by Harrison Robertson ; " Rondeaux of 
Cities," by Robert Grant ; "On a Hymn Book," by 
W.J. Henderson ; and "The Critic" Company, for 
verses by Irving Brown. 



CONTENTS. 

Adams, Oscar Fay. I'Ac.e. 
Where arc the Pipes of Tan i 

Aldrich, Thomas Bailey. 

On an Intagho Head of Minerva 3 

Austin, Henry. 

Durant le Diner 6 

Bates, Arlo. 

Love is a Knave 9 

Triolet 10 

Benton, J(jel. 

A Kiss by Mistake i i 

Berg, A. E. 

Called Back 13 

BococK, John Paul. 

A Candid Proposal 15 

To a Friend on his VVeddini^ Day if 6 

Brown, Vandyke. 

A Seaside Incident _ , 18 

Browne, Irving. 

How a Bibliomaniac Binds His Books 20 

Bunker, H. C. 

Yes ? 23 

She Was a Beauty 25 

Just a Love Letter 26 



co.Y ■/•/■:. v/s 

JJkii)i,i.>.. Madklink. vacv.. 

Kcluscd 30 

llvc-n Up 32 

.Mtcrward j^ 

1 Icr Logic 34 

(Kne, Helen Gray. 

An Ivory Miniature 35 

Ballad of Cassandra Brown 38 

tiiANULER, Bessie. 

The Message of the Rose 41 

To Mrs. Carlylc 43 

The Stork's Jcrer.iiad 45 

> KAKi, Ballaku. 

Folly , 47 

Cra.ndai.l, Charles. 

The Fair Copy-Ilukkr 4S 

A Song for the Hickory Tree 49 

Crokkl'T, W. a. 

In Switzerland 51 

DUKK, Jr. K. T. W. 

In Arcadia 54 

KYrLNCE, Mar<;aret. 

All (.)ld Bachelor to an Old .Maid -,(. 

Kay, Anna Marlv. 

Rondel 57 

Fai'LKNEr, Henry C. 

Ballade of the Rose 58 

Between the Lines 60 

Ballade of the Balcony 63 

I'KSTI.R, I>AVI|) S. 

The ( ianie of Chess 65 



CO.VTE.VTS. xiii 
GiLMOKK, MiNNIIi. I'ACE. 

After the I]:ill 67 

A Lost Friend 68 

Grant, Roi'.krt. 

Koiideau u la Boston 70 

" " Philadelphia 71 

" " Baltimore. 72 

" " New York .■ 73 

GuiNEY, Louise Imogexe. 

Private Theatricals 74 

Lo and Lii yr 

Hall, Ruth. 

Ballade of the Shepherdess 77 

Winter's Wooing 7cj 

Too Learned 80 

Hall, Gertrude. 

Mrs. Golighdy 81 

tLvNDY, Mrs. ^L P. 

Alnaschar 83 

De Convenance 85 

Harvey, J. C. 

A Challenge 87 

Harte, Bret. 

Half an Hour Before Supper 88 

What the Wolf Really Said to Little Red 

Riding-Hood ni 

FIart, Jerome A. 

A Boutonniere 02 

Henderson, W. J. 

On a Hymn Book 03 

Palmistry g5 



x,v COyTENT^ 

Holmes, oi.ivkk Wendkll. vm:\-. 

My Aunt 97 

To the I'ortrait of a Lady loo 

Aunt Tahitha 102 

IIiLURKTH, Charles Loiin. 

Heart and Hand 104 

L.vTHRup, George Parsons. 

One of the Pack 106 

Lawrence, Sophie St. G. 

Last July 109 

Learned, Walieu. 

Time's Revenijc 1 1 1 

( )n the Fly Leaf of a Book . .f ( )ld Play* 112 

Marjorie's Kisses 114 

LiMMis, Charles F. 

My Meerschaums 115 

My Cigarette 118 

LiDERs, Charles Henkv. 

A Houtonniere , . . . 120 

Deception I2I 

Matthews, Brani^er. 

An American Girl 122 

Ballade of Adaptation 1 24 

NLvRTiN. Edwarii S. 

.Mea Culpa 126 

Infirm 1 29 

Moi'LTON, LofisE Chandler. 

The Ro.-.e She Wore in Winter ijo 

.V Little Comedy 131 

In Winter 1 ^ ^ 

MlNKITTRICK, R. K. 

The liallade of the Enga^;ed Vnun^ Man. ... 135 
An Old iJeau 137 



CONTENTS. XV 
()Sli(;KNE, DUFFIELD. I'ACK. 

PrMsens Regnat 13S 

To a Corkscrew 139 

ri.vrr, DoNN. 

We Parted at the Omnibus 140 

PlERSON, S. H. 

At Mrs. Millidor's 143 

IJallade of Midsummer 146 

TlERSON, E. D. 

Violets 148 

Blowing Bubbles 149 

Peck, Samuel M. 

An April Maid 151 

A Southern Girl 153 

I'ECK, Wallace. 

Courting an Heiress 155 

Peters, Willlvm Theodore. 

To a Slipper 157 

Proudfit, David L. 

Tatting 1 50 

Down the Switchback 161 

Roche, James Jeffrey. 

If 163 

Don't 164 

RoHERTSON, HaRRLSON. 

Coquette 1 53 

Two Triolets 167 

Appropriation i58 

Reese, Lizette Woodworth. 

The Rhyme of a Fan 170 

A Rosebud 171 



XVI CchV TENTS. 

Saxe, John C. I'ace. 

Cloc to Clara 172 

A Reasonaljle iVtilio.i 174 

ScuLLAKD, Clinton. 

To a Chinesi,' M il 175 

At the Lcttcr-Iiox 1 77 

Rose Ix;aves 1 79 

Smum, Henry B. 

At the Church Door 180 

My Mausoleum 1S2 

A Marriage c\ la Mode 1 83 

Smith, S. Decatur. 

At Har I larhor 185 

A Woman's Weapons 187 

Si KKRY, Di; Wnr. 

An Old Glove iSS 

Si ARK\VK.\TIIER, C. C. 

Ballade of Barristers 193 

Rivals ig2 

SlEOMAN, EdMINI) C. 

l'roveii9al Lovers 193 

Tnujours Amour 195 

Pan in Wall Street 197 

liLTitN, Theodere. 

French with a Master 201 

'rktiWItRIHr.E, RoiHCRTSON. 

I.e ( irenier 204 

TiiM'ER, Korrn S. 

Understood znCi 

'I'vKEi.i., Henry. 

To a Jaiu-.iese li.iliy ... 207 

Mittens 209 

Mis. matched ...211 



CO.Vl'F.A'TS. xvii 

Van Santvoord, Harold. 

The Moniint; Afk-r 213 

Wat ROUS, A. E. 

Her First Train 214 

Old Bohemians 216 

VVeuh, Charles Henry. 

Her Name was FcHcc 218 

Discarded 219 

In the Bay-Window 220 

Wilcox, Ella Wiieelek. 

The Duct 222 

Illogical 224 

WiLKiNS, Mary !'. 

Her Bonnet 226 



WHERE ARE THE PIPES OF PAN? 

OSCAR FAY ADAMS. 

IN these prosaic clays 
Of politics and trade, 
When seldom Fancy lays 
Her touch on man or maid, 
The somids are fled that strayed 
Along sweet streams that ran; 
Of song the world's afraid : 
Where are the Pipes of Pan? 

Within the busy maze 

Wherein our feet are stayed, 
There roam no gleesome fays 
Like those which once repaid 
His sight who first essayed 
The stream of song to span ; 

Those spirits all are laid: 
Where are the Pipes of Pan? 



WHERE ARE THE /'/PES OF /'AN? 

Dry now the poet's bays ; 

Of song-roljes disarrayed 
He hears not now the praise 

Which erst those won who ])layfd 

On pipes of rushes made, 
Before dull days began 

And love of song decayed : 
Where are the Pipes of Pan ? 



Prince, all our pleasures fade ; 

Vain all the toils of man ; 
And Fancy cries dismayed, 

" Where are the Pipes of Pan ? " 



ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA. 

THOMAS PAILEY ALDRICH. 

Ty ENEATH the warrior's helm, behold 
'-^ The flowing tresses of the woman ! 
Minerva, Pallas, what you will — 

A winsome creature, Greek or Roman. 

Minerva ? No ! 'tis some sly minx 
In cousin's helmet masquerading; 

If not — then Wisdom was a dame 
For sonnets and for serenading ! 

I thought the goddess cold, austere. 

Not made for love's despairs and blisses ,; 

Did Pallas wear her hair like ihat ? 

Was Wisdom's mouth so shaped for kisses ? 

The Nightingale should be her bird. 
And not the Owl, big-eyed and solemn ; 

How very fresh she looks, and yet 
She's older far than Trajan's Column ! 
3 



0.\' AN I XT AG LI O HEAD OF MINERVA. 

The magic haml that carved this face, 
And set this vine-work round it running, 

Perhaps ere mighty Phidias wrought 
Had lost its subtle skill and cunning. 

Who was he ? Was he glad or sad. 
Who knew to carve in such a fashion ? 

Perchance he graved the dainty head 

For some brown girl that scorned his passion. 

I'crchance, in some still garden place 
Where neither fount nor tree to-day is, 

He flung the jewel at the feet 
Of Phryne, or perhaps 'twas Lais. 

liut he is dust; we may not know 

His happy or unhappy story : 
Nameless, and dead these centuries 

His work outlives him — there's his glory ! 

Hoth man and jewel lay in earth 

licneath a lava-buried city; 
The countless summers came and went 

With neither haste nor hate nor pity. 

Years blotted out the man, but left 

The jewel fresh as any blossom. 
Till some Visconti dug it up — 

To rise and fall on Mabel's bosom. 



ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA. 

O nameless brother ! See how Time 
Your gracious handiwork has guarded ; 

See how your loving, patient art 
Has come at last to be rewarded. 

Who would not suffer slights of men, 
And pangs of hopeless passion also, 

To have his carven agate stone 
On such a bosom rise and fall so ' 



J)UKAXT I.i: DINKR. 

IIKNRV \V. AlSIIN. 

Y'< )U ill the sunshine, I in tlic shadow — 

Jhus we have journeyed our \vhi)lv- lile loii', 
Vou in the calm of your Eldorado— 
I in my tempest of sony;. 

I'ortune 1kI<1 us in et|uai favor 

When we started with youthful hearts ; 

Then she jilted me. I fori^ave her. 
For she left me the li:)vely Arts. 

Ah ! she coula not of them l>ereave me , 

They were mine from my first full breath 
And their sjilendors will never leave me 
Till the sunset that men call death. 

Strani^e, in sooth, is the retrospection ! 

Stranjje the manifold )iarts I played 
Chasing ever Delight's reflection. 

Half enamored of .Sorrow's shade I 
6 



DURA NT Lfi DIXliR. 

\ci\\ and I — wheat a contrast, truly ! 

I with passionate, purple veins : 
V'oii alone in the Ultima Thule 

Of Frigidity's sordid gains. 

\ ou a mountainous marvel of money, 
With your juleps that told of mints : 

I a vagabond, strange and funny. 
Called Bohemia's facile Prince. 

Miser, yours was a shoddy Palace ; 

Venus and Bacchus held court in mine ; 
Deeper, I swear, have I drunk Life's chalice. 

And even the dregs to my taste are fine. 

All my tears I have turned to laughter-*- 
Melted like pearls in a nectar bowl. 

What though nothing may be hereafter. 
Here, at least, I have had my soul. 

Ves, I have had it and found it splendid — 
Psyche, Butterfly, Dream Divine ! 

What ! So soon must it all be ended ? 
Double the perfumes and spice the wine. 

" Sorrow comes in the guise of pleasure ? " 
Trite, I'm certain, but may be true ; 

Therefore bring me a broader measure, 
Bring me a weed of a darker hue. 



JWRAXT LE DINER 

You may sncc-r, you ill-savored siniKr ; 

Wealth and power were denied my wits 
Still I'm sure (when I've had my dinner) 

That my misses outmatch your hit>. 

r>iil what odds, when the play is over, 
If men fancy you've won the j^amc, 

Since, thouj^h always you lived in clover 
\Vc beneatli it will sleep the same .•" 



LOVE IS A KNAVE. 

ARL<J UATES. 

I OVE is a knave ; he plucks a rose 

Or twines a curl, and toys like this 
He spreads to snare fond hearts ; he knows 
How little else than light breath goes 
To vows and bubbles both, I wis. 

The most bewitching airs he blows 

On sweet-voiced pipes ; while promised bliss, 
Pledged with no sure fruition, shows 
I>ove is a knave. 

Sweet, to deprive us of repose, 

Love weaves his schemes ; but naught amiss. 

We laugh to scorn his threatened woes. 

And cry, with warmest clasp and kiss. 

Love is a knave ! 
9 



TIUOLKT. 

A R 1.(1 BATES. 

1I7KE Ka:.c is l)iit tlircc, 

Yet coquette.; slvj alrcaily. 

I can scarcely agree 

Wej Koic is but three, 

Wild) her archness I see I 

Arc the sex born unsteady f- 

Wee Rose is but three, 

Yet coquettes she already. 



A KISS— BY MISTAKE. 

JOEl, BENTON. 

T I PON the railway train \vc met- — 
.She had the softest, bluest eyes. 
A face you never could forget — 

"Sixteen " with all that that implies. 
I knew her once a little girl, 

And meeting now a mutual friend, 
( )ur thoughts and hearts got in a whirl ; 

We talked for miles without much end. 

I threw nijf arm around the seat 

Where, just in front, she sideways sat. 
Her melting- eyes and face to mect-^ 

(And no one wondered much at that) 
For soon the station where she left 

Would on the sorrowing vision rise, 
And I at least should feel bereft ; 

I thought a tear stood in her eyes. 

She was but kith, not kin of mine ; 

Ten years had passed since last we met, 
And when in going she did incline 

Her face, 'twas natural to forget. 



A K/SS—BV MISTAKi:. 

It sccnifd so like a child I kiKw — 
I met her half way by mistake ; 

Ami fuming near those eyes of blue, 
She gently kissed me — by mistake ! 

She saw her error, and straightway ran 

With flaming Ijlushes, rosy red ; 
I should not be one-half a man 

If thoughts of wrong came in my head 
In fact, I'd take that very train 

And travel daily for her sake. 
If she would only come again 

And gently kiss me — by mistake ! 



CALLED BACK. 

ALBERT KLLKRY BERG. 

'' I '"HERE'S a lull in this dull Lenten season 

Of dressing and dancing, et cet. — 
My tlioughts turn from folly and treason, 

To one whom I cannot forget ; 
Your last note is now almost yellow ; 

We quarreled — the usual way; 
I smiled upon some other fellow, 

Because you were flirting with May. 

And when we went home from the party, 

Your looks were as cold as the air ; 
I, too, was reserved, and no hearty 

Good-night kiss was asked for Mon Cher ! 
The next day I wrote you a letter 

Affecting a dignified tone. 
And told you I thought it were better 

In future to leave me alone. 

My pride led nie tlien to deceive you, 
To tell you my love was all dead, 

So foolish was I to believe you 

Would read 'twixt the lines — but instead— 



CALLED BACK. 

You thought mc in earnest, and parted, 

To worship society's calf; 
liut, Jack, I am now broken-hearted, 

And you are too tender by half. 

We have been far too much to each other, 

To sever for nothing at all, 
And if you have not found another, 

\Vhy, then — you arc w elcome to call. 
There's always a seat at our tabic, 

A place for you still in my heart; 
So, Jack, if you think you are able, 

Corae back and rehearse your old part! 



A CANDID PROPOSAL. 

JOHN PAUL BOCOCK. 

1 LOVE you, love you ! love you ! ! — yet confess 
*^ A consciousness of trifling does come o'er me 
When all the other shapes of loveliness 

To whom I've said the same thing rise before me. 
They were, you are, the idol of my heart ; 

An idol it must have — which must be kissed. Hence 
That which was once but of my life a part 

Is now my whole existence. 

I see a scornful light grow in your eyes, 

And yet they shine like stars half hid by mists 
Magnificent ! You are the fairest prize 

My errant heart e'er fought for in love's lists. 
You see, I'm candid ; you have bowled me over, 

And now I drink and dine and bathe in love ; 
I puzzled half an hour just to discover 

The perfume of your glove ! 

But now all empty was this heart of mii>e ; 

Some woman must be in it. With that rose 
Give me yourself, and walk into the shrine 

Its sovereign goddess. In short, I propose — 
My ! Won't the Johnson-Mowbrays be enraged ! 

This summer's changed the lot of many a rover — 
That you and I be genuinely engaged 

Until the season's over ! 

2 i; 



TO A FRIEND O.V HIS WEDDING DAY. 

JOHN TAIL HOC(JCK. 

O O, Henri, you will take the Icaj 

*^ At which so often you have laughed ; 

You must have taken many a jieep 

While Hymen's garden wall you chaflfed! 

There never was a likely lad 

Who didn't some time want to marry ; 
I hear you "have it pretty bad" — 

Sly dog, you fetched, now you must carry ! 

No more late suppers at the club, 

No more the quiet poker party; 
You've had your outing — there's the rul> — 

\'uu must keep innings now, my hearty 1 

Henceforth the dear domestic hearth 
Shall light the limits of your vision; 

I Icnccforlh your dearest joys on earth 
Be those that once were your derision ! 

I sec you, Henri, walk the floor, 
I hear you groan — it must be colic ; 

I hear a faint infantile roar — 

Hchold your early morning frolic ! 



TO A FRIEND ON HIS WEDDING-DA Y. '7 

A thousand times I wish you joy, 

Bright he tlie paths where Hymen's beckoned; 
Keep a stiff upper lip, my Ijoy, 

And here's a health to Henri H.! 



A SEASIDE INCIDENT. 

VANOYKE liROWN. 

" \ ^ /IIY, Bob, you dear old fellow, 

" ' Where have you been these years ? 
In Egypt, India, Khiva, 

With the Khan's own volunteers? 
Have you scaled the Alps or Andes, 

Sailed to Isles of Amazons ? 
What climate, Bob, has wrought the change 

Your face from brown to bronze?" 

She placed a dimpled hand in mine 

In the same frank, friendly way; 
We stood oivce more on the dear old beach. 

And it seemed but yesterday 
Since, standing on this same white shore. 

She said, with eyelids wet, 
" Good-bye. You may remember. Bob, 

But I shall not forget." 

I held her hand and whispered low, 

" Madge, darling, what of the years — 
The ten long years that have intervcneil 
Since, through the mist of tears, 
2 I'i 



A SEASIDE INCIDENT. 

We said good-bye on this same white beach 

Here by the murmuring sea ? 
You, Madge, were then just twenty, 

And I was twenty-three." 

A. crimson blush came to her ch^ek, 

" Hush, Bob," she quickly said ; 
" Let's look at the bathers in the surf — 

There's Nellie and Cousin Ned." 
" And who's that portly gentleman 

On the shady side of life ? " 
" Oh, he belongs to our party, too — 

In fact. Bob, I'm his wife ! 

"And I tell you, Bob, it's an awful thing, 

The way he does behave : 
Flirts with that girl in steel-gray silk — 

Bob, why do you look so grave ? " 
" The fact is, Madge — I — well, ahem ! 

Oh, nothing at all, my dear — 
Except that she of the steel-gray silk 

Is the one I married last year." 



now A i;il:l.I(^MAXIAC lilXDS HIS r.ooKS 

IKVINC i;kii\vni;. 

T I) likf my favorite books to hind 

So that their outward dress 
To ev^-ry l)iijlioinaniac's mind 
Their contents should express. 

Napoleon's life should glare in red, 
John CaJvin's ijloom in hhie ; 

Thus Ihey would typify hloodshed 
And stjur relii^ion's hue. 

The prizj-rinj^ re'Cord of the jiast 

Must be in blue and black ; 
While any color that is fast 

Would do for Derby track. 

The Poj)cs in scarlet well m.iy yo ; 

In jealous j^reen, Othello ; 
In 1,'ray, Old Age of Cicero, 

.\nd London Cries in v<llow . 



Hon- A BIBILOMANIAC BINDS HIS BOOKS. 

My Walton should his gentle art 

In salmon best express, 
And IVnn and Fox the friendly heart 

h\ quiet drab confess. 

Statistics of the lumber trade 
Should be embraced in board ; ; 

While muslin for the inspired Maid 
A fitting garb affcjrds 

Intestine wars I'd clothe in vellum, 

While pig-skin Bacon grasps, 
And flat romances such as "PeJham," 

Should stand in calf with clasps. 

iSlind-toolcd should be blank verse and rhyme 

Of Homer and of Milton. ; 
But Newgate Calendar-of Crime 

I'd lavishly dab gilt on. 

The edges of a sculptor's life 

May fitly marbled be 
But sprinkle not, for fear of strife, 

A Baptist history 

Crimea's warlike facts and dates 
C )f fragrant Russia smell ; 

The subjugated Barbary States 
In crushed Morocco dwell. 



I/Oir A BIBLIOMAXIAC BINDS HIS BOOKS. 

Hut, oh ! that oiu- I liold so dyar 

Slioulil l)c arrayed so cheap 
(lives me a qualm ; I sadly fear 

My Lamb must lie half sheep \ 



YES? 

H. C. DUNNKR. 

I S it true then, my girl, that you mean it — 

* The word spoken yesterday night ? 

Does that hour seem so sweet now between it 

And this has come day's sober light ? 
Have you woke from a moment of rapture 

To remember, regret, and repent, 
And to hate, perchance, him who has trapped your 

Unthinking consent ? 

Who was he, last evening — this fellow 

Whose audacity lent him a charm ? 
Have you promised to wed Pulchinello 

For life taking Figaro's arm ? 
Will you have the Court fool of the papers. 

The clown in the journalists' ring 
Who earns his scant bread by his capers, 

To be your heart's king? 

When we met quite by chance at the theater 
And I saw you"home under the moon, 

I'd no thought, love, that mischief would be at her 
Tricks with my tongue quite so soon ; 
23 



}-ES.' 

That I sliould forget fate ami fortune, 

Make a diflference 'twixt Sevres and delf — 

Tint I'd have the calm nerve to importune 
You, sweet, for yourself. 

It's appalling, by Jove, the audacious 

Effrontery of that request ! 
But you — you grew suddenly gracious. 

And hid your sweet face on my breast. 
Why you did it I cannot conjecture ; 

I surprised you, poor child, I dr.re say. 
Or perhaps — does the moonlight affect your 

Head often that way ? 

You're released ! Willi some wooer replace me 

More worthy to be your life's light ; 
P>om the tablet of memory efface me, 

If you don't mean the Yes of last night. 
But, unless you are anxious to sec me a 

Wreck of the pipe and the cu|), 
In my birthi)Iacc and graveyard, Bohemia — 

Love, don't give me up ! 



SHE WAS A BEAUTY. 

(rondel.) 

h. c. bunner. 

O HE was a beauty in the days 
'^ When Madison was President ; 
And quite coquettish in her ways- — 
On conquests of the heart intent. 

Grandpapa, on his right knee bent, 

Wooed her in stiff, old-fashioned phrase — 
She was a beauty in the days 

When Madison was President. 

A.nd when your roses where hers went 
Shall go, my Rose, who date from Hayes, 

1 hope you'll wear her sweet content, 
Of whom tradition lightly says : 
She was a beauty in the days 

When Madison was President. 



JUST A LOVK- LETTER. 

H. C. BUNNER. 
Miss Blank — at Blank. Jemima, let it go !" — Austin Dobson. 

Nkw-Vokk, July 20th, 18S3. 
Dear Giri. : 

The town goes on as though 

It thought you still were in it ; 
The gilded cage seems scarce to know 

That it has lost its linnet ; 
The people come, the jjcople pass ; 

The clock keeps on a-ticking: 
And through the hasemcnt plots of grass 

I'ersistent weeds are jiricking. 

I thought 'tw(juld never come — the Spring — 

Since you had left the City ; 
IJut on the snow-drifts lingering 

At last the skies took jnty, 
Then Summer's yellow warmed the sun. 

Daily decreasing distance — 
I really don't know how 'twas dc nc 

Without your kind assistance. 
26 



JUST A LOVE-LETTEK. 

Aunt Van, of course, still holds the fort : 

I've paid the call of duty; 
She gave me one small glass of port — 

'Twas '34 and fruity. 
The furniture was draped in gloom 

Of linen brown and wrinkled ; 
I smelt in spots about the room 

The pungent camphor sprinkled. 

I sat upon tlie sofa, where 

You sat and dropped your thimble — 
You know — you said you didn't care ; 

But I was nobly nimble. 
On hands and knees I dropped, and tried 

To — well, tried to miss it : 
You slipped your hand down by your side- 

You knew I meant to kiss it ! 

Aunt Van, I fear we put to shame 

Propriety and precision : 
But, praised be Love ! that kiss just came 

Beyond your line of vision. 
Dear maiden aunt ! the kiss, more sweet 

Because 'tis surreptitious, 
You never stretched a hand to meet, 

So dimpled, dear, delicious. 

I sought the Park last Saturday ; 

I found the drive deserted ; 
The water-trough beside the way 

Sad and superfluous spurted. 



juyr A uHE-Li-.n LK 

I slood wlicic Ilunibuliit gnards the gate 
Hronze, bumptious, stained, and streaky - 

There sat a sparrow on his pate, 
A sparrow chirp and cheeky. 

Ten months ago ! fen months ago! — 

It seems a happy second, 
Against a life-time lone and slow, 

Hy Love's wild time-piece reckoned — 
Vou smiled, by Aunt's protecting side, 

Where thick the drags were massin;;, 
On one young man who didn't ride, 

Hut stootl and watched you passing. 

I haunt Purssell's — to his amaze — 

Not that I care to eat there ; 
But for the dear clandestine days 

When we two had to meet there. 
Oh ! blessed is that baker's bake. 

Past cavil and past question ; 
I ate a bun for your dear sake, 

And Memory helped Digestion. 

The Norths are at their Newport ranch ; 

Van Hrunt has gone to Venice ; 
I.onmis invites me to the Branch, 

And lures me with lawn-tennis. 
O bustling barracks by the sea ! 

O spiles, canals, and islands ! 
Your varied charms are naught to me — 

My heart is in the Highlands ! 



JUST A LOVE-LETTEK. 

My paper trembles in the breeze 

That all too faintly flutters 
Among the dusty city trees, 

And through my half-closed shutters : 
A northern captive in the town, 

Its native vigor deadened, 
I hope that, as it wandered down, 

Your dear pale cheek it reddened. 

I'll write no more. A vis-a-vis 

In halcyon vacation 
Will sure afford a much more free 

Mode of communication ; 
I'm tantalized and cribbed and checked 

In making love by letter: 
I know a style more brief, direct — 

And generally better ! 



RKFUSKl), 

MADELINE S. IIRIDCES 



II IV'^*'. tu), " she said, ami firmly j^pnkc ; 

She ruasoiiL'tl with him like a mother, 
Ami showed why he should be content 
To let her love him as a brother. 



She pictured how the marriage state 
Is one of tioid)le and confusion ; 

How love, at best, is but a snare, 
And plainly sent for man's delusion. 

lie bowed his head before her llow 
Of elo(|uence, nor strove to turn it, 

15ut meekly hinted that he would 
The lesson take, and try to learn it. 

" Farewell, I go lieyond the sea 

Since I'm refused, no more I'll press you ; 
Kiiiil Time," he sij^hed, " may heal my pain, 

Fori.Mve, forget >ne, .Tud God bless you I " 

3" 



REFUS/^D. 

Slie faltered, pnled, then tossed her head : 
" I see it will not greatly grieve you ; 

Vou can't have loved me much," she said : 
" And )'et. indeed, I did helieve you I " 

" Besides," with this her fair cheek gained 
The color his was slowly losing ; 

" I only said ' no ' once or twice, 
And — women don't call that refusing/ t " 



EVEN UP. 

MADKLINK S. lilUDGES. 

ii A [Y love," ho said, and parted hack her hair 

^ That tossed in golden mists above her eyes ; 
" Ask me no more, but hear me while I swear 

You, you alone I love. Will that suffice ? 

'• I have had fancies — yes, like other men — 

N'oiith's blood is swift, and youth's warm dreamiiii' 
re )ves — 

My heart at last is lixe*"!. Ah ! spare me then 
These (juestions as to other, earlier loves ! 

" 'Tis riot for y<iu, wltose innoct-nt young heart 
Still hears the music of y<iur childhood's chimes,. 

To Miider-^tand " She stopjjcd him with a ^fart, 

" Don't go so fast, I've luen engaged four times ! " 
3* 



AFTERWARD. 

MADELINE S. HRIDGES. 

U \TEVER," he vowed i(, "while life may last, 

Can 1 love attain. 1 will die unwed." 
"• And I, too, dear, since our dream is past, 
I will live single," she sobbing said. 

A storm of fai-ewclls — of wild good-byes — 
He rushed from the spot, like an outcast soul. 

She hid in a pillow her streaming eyes, 
And wept with anguish beyond control. 

Just five year« afterward, they two met 
At a vender's stand, in a noisy street ; 

lie saw the smile he could ne'er forget, 

And she the eyes that were more than sweet. 



•' Oh, Kutc! " "(.)h, Harry ! "i 

" I stopped," he said, "just to get a toy 
For my little girl." " I wanted a book," 
She softly said, " for my little boy."' 



" How well you look. 
' ' I low well you look 



HER LOGIC. 

MADK.l.lNK. S. IIUIDGES. 

T MAY not kiss you, sweetest ? why, 

Since all the world to love is moiikled ? 
Look how the happy l)utterfly 
Kisses the rose and isn't scolded ! 

See how the stream with tender lips 
Its )j;rcen and mossy marj^in presses. 

And even the stately willow dips 
Her I'eauty ti> the tide's caresses. 

1 rii.-i^ .''ot kiss you ? 'Tis absunl 
To scorn the truth all nature traces ! 

The very breeze, upf)n my word. 

Stands stilL and kisses both our faces. 

" (j)uite right," she said, "for breezes, John, 
I'"or l)utterflies and streamlets, dearest , 

I notice, tlmui^h, they sunn |)ass on 

To kiss — tlie next tiling' that comes nearest ! 



AN IVORY MINIATURE. 

HELEN GRAY CONE. 

\ A /HEN State street homes were stately stil 
When out of town was Murray Hill, 

In late deceased "old times" 
Of vast, embowering bonnet shapes 
And creamy-crinkled Canton crapes 

And florid annual rhymes, 

He owned a small suburban seat 
Where now you see a modern street, 

A monochrome of brown : 
The sad " brown brown " of Dante's dreams, 
A twilight turned to stone that seems 

To weight our city down. 

Througl; leafy cliestnuts whitely showed 
The pillared front of his abode : 

A garden girt it 'round, 
Whore pungent box did trim enclose 
The marigold and cabbage rose, 

And " pi'ny " heavy crowned. 

Yea, whatso sweets the changing year's, 
He most affected. Gone ! but here's 



AN nOHV MINIATUKI:. 

His face who loved him so. 
Old cheeks like sherry, warm and mild; 
A clcar-hued cheek as cheek of child ; 

Sleek head a sphere of snow. 

His mouth was pious, and his nose 
Patrician ; with which moul 1 there goes 

A disa(Tected vic.v 
In those sublime, be-oratored, 
Spread-eagle days ; his soul deplored 

So much red-white-and-blue ! 

In umber ink, with S's long. 

He left behind him censure strong 

In stiffost ]ihrnses clothed ! 
I'.ut time — a jtjcasant jest enough ! — 
Has turned the tory leaves to buff, 

The liberal hue he loathed. 

CJf many a gentle deed he made 
Brief, simple rccor<l. Never fade 

Those everlasting flowers 
Tiiat spring \\\< wilil by good men's walks ; 
<)pinions wither on tlieir stalks. 

And sere grow Fashion's bowers. 

l'>ect, bcfrilled, in neckcloth tall. 
His senililancc sits, removed from all 

Our needs and noises new ; 
Released from all the rent we pay 
As tenants of the large To-day, 

Cool, in .n back ground blue. 



AN irORV MINIATURE. 

And he heneatli a cherub chijiped 

I'lump, squamous pinioned, ])outing-hpped, 

Sleeps calm where Trinity 
Points fingers dark to clouds that fleet; 
A warning, seen from surging street, 

A welcome seen from sea. 

There fall, ghosts glorified of tears 
Shed for the dead in buried years, 

The silver notes of chimes ; 
And there, with not unrevcrent hand 
Though light, I lay this " greene garland," 

This woven wreath of rhymes. 



TFIE J5AI,LAD OF CASSANDRA DROWN. 

HELEN GRAY CONE. 
HOUGH I met her in the summer, wlicn one's heart 



T 

hes round at ease 



As it were in tennis costume, and n man's not hard to 

please, 
V'et I think that any season to have met her was to love. 
While her tones, unspoiled, unstudied, had the softness 

of the dove. 

At request she read us poems in a nook among the pines. 
And her artless voice lent music to the least melotlious 

lines ; 
Though she lowered her shadowing Irisho';, in an earnest 

reader's wise. 
Yet we caught l>Iue gracious glimpses of the heavens 

which were her eyes. 

As in paradise I listened — ah, I did not understand 
That a little cloud, no larger tlian the average human 

hand, 
Miglit, as staled oft in fiction, spread into a sable jiall. 
When she said that she sliould study I'^locution in the 

fall! 

3b 



THE BALLAD OF CASSANDRA BROWN. ,j 

I admit her earliest efforts were not in the Ercles vein; 
She began with, " Lit-tlc Maayljel, with her faayce against 

the payne 
And the beacon-hght a-t-r-r-remblc" — which, aUhough it 

made me wince, 
Is a thing of cheerful nature to the things she's rendered 

since. 

Having heard the Soulful Quiver, she acquired the Melt- 
ing Mo-o-an, 

And the way she gave "Young Grayhead " would have 
liquefied a stone. 

Then the Sanguinary Tragic did her energies employ. 

And she tore my taste to tatters when she slew "The 
Polish Boy." 

It's not pleasant for a fellow when the jewel of his soul 
Wades through slaughter on the carpet, while her orbs 

in frenzy roll ; 
What was I that I should murmur ? Yet it gave me 

grievous pain 
That she rose in social gatherings, and Searched among 

the Slain. 

I was forced to look upon her in my desperation dumb. 
Knowing well that when her awful opportunity was come 
She would give us battle, inurder, sudden death at very 

least, 
As a skeleton of warning, and a blight upon the feast. 



I THE BALLAD Oh CASSAND/CA BROH'N 

Once, ah! once I fell a-dreaniing; some one playctl a 

polonaise 
1 associated strongly with those happier August ilays ; 
And 1 mused, "I'll speak this evening," recent pangs 

forgotten quite — 
Sudden shrilled a scream of anguish : " Curfow shall 

not ring to-night ! " 

Ah, that sound was as a curfew, quenching rosy, warm 

romance — 
VVero it safe to wed a woman one so oft woukl wish in 

France ? 
Oh, as she "cul-limhed" Lliat ladder, swift my mounting 

hope came down, 
I am still a single cynic ; she is still Cassandra lirown ! 



THE MESSAGE OF THE ROSE. 

BESSIE CHANDLER. 

He. 

HE gave me a rose at the ball to-iiiglit, 
*^ And 1 — I'm a fool, I suppose, 

For my heart beat high with a vague delight. 
Had she given me more than the rose? 

1 thought that she had for a little while 
Till I saw her, fairest of dancers, 

Give another rose with the same sweet smile 
To another man in the Lancers. 

Well, roses are plenty, and smiles not rare — 

It is really rather audacious 
To grumble because my lady fair 

Is to other men kind and gracious. 

Yet who can govern his wayward dreams ? 

And my dream so precious and bright 
Now foolish, broken, and worthless seems 

As it fades with her rose to-night ! 

She. 
I gave him a rose at the ball to-night, 

A deep-red rose, with a fragrance dim. 
And the warm blood rushed to my cheeks with fright 

I could not, dared not, look at him. 



HIE MESSAGE or THE ROSE. 

For llic depths of my soul lie seemed to scan; 

Mis earnest look I could not bear ; 
So I gave a rose to another man 

Any one else — I did not care. 

And yet, spite of all, he has read, I know. 
My message — he could not have missed it 

For his rose I held to my bosom, so. 
And then to my lips while I kissed it. 



TO MRS. CARLYLE. 

BESSIE CHANDLER. 

I HAVE read your glorious letters, 
Where you threw aside all fetters, 
Spoke your thoughts and mind out freely, 
In your own delightful style; 
And I fear my state's alarming, 
For these pages are so charming 
That my heart I lay before you, — 

Take it, Jeannie Welsh Carlyle. 

And I sit here, thinking, thinking 
How your life was one long winking 
At poor Thomas' faults and failings 
And his undue share of bile. 
Won't you own, dear, just between us, 
That this Hving with a genius 
Isn't after all so pleasant, — 

Is it, Jeannie Welsh Carlyle ? 

There was nothing so demeaning 
In those frequent times of cleaning. 

When you scoured and scrubbed and hammered 
In such true housewifely style. 



TO MAS. CAKLY'LE. 

And those charming leas and (Unncrs, 
Graced by clever saints and sinners. 
Make me lonsj to have been present 

W ith you, Jcannie Welsh Carlyle. 

How you fouglit with dugs and chickens, 
Playing children, and the dickens 

Knows what else ; you stilled all racket 
That might Thomas' sleep beguile. 
How you wrestled with the taxes. 
How you ground T. Carlyle's axes. 
Making him the more dependent 

( )n you, Jeannie Welsh Carlyle. 

Througli it all from every ([uarter 
fileams, like sunshine on the water, 
^'our quick sense of fun and humor 

And your bright, bewitching smile ; 
.\n(l I own I fairly revel 
In the way that you say "devil," — 
'Tis so terse, so very vigorous, 

So like Jeannie Welsh Carlyle. 

All the time, say, were you missing 
Just a little love and kissing — 
Silly things that help to lighten 

Many a weary, dreary while ? 
Not a word you say to show it, — 
We may guess, but never know it, — 
\'uu went quietly on without it. 

Loyal Jcannie Welsh Carlyle. 



3* 



THE STORK'S JEREMIAD. 

BESSIE CHANDLER. 

"/^-^I'^-I^EGGED stork, thou staiidest sad and lonely, 
.\ tear, nicthinks, I notice in thine eye. 
Oh, tell to me — yes, whisper to me only — 
What is the sorrow that I think I spy ? " 

And lo ! from out the meshes of the tidy 

There came a feeble, mournful sort of squeak. 

And, while amazed I opened my eyes wide, he 
Opened his mouth, and thus began to speak : . 

" I am so very tired of being artistic ; 

My life is one long, patient, painful ache ; 
I am so wearied of these weird and mystic 
Positions which they force my form to take. 

■' In crewels, silks, in worsted and in cotton, 

Now bladv, now white, now grave, now madly gay. 
They've worked me ; and one wrong is unforgotten 
They've done me most and worst in applique. 

'Sometimes they plant me 'mid some rushes speary 

In attitudes no well-bred stork would take. 
Holding one leg up, till I get so weary 

I sometimes think my poor strained back will break. 



^6 THE STORK'S JEREMIAD. 

"They AC worked me slamling, running, sleeping, flying : 
Somclimes I'm gazing at a trcwel sun. 
They've worked nie every way, I think, but dying ; 
And oh ! I wisli tliey'd do that and be done I 

" I could forgive tJiem all this hitler wronging 
If they would prant one favor, which I beg. 
Would gratify but once my soul's deep longing. 
Just to put down my cramped and unused leg. 

" Know you of any one with sorrows greater ? 
A creature with a life that's more forlorn ? 
Hounded forever by the Decorator, 

I wish, I wish, I never had been born ! " 

A silence fell ; I gazed ; he had subsided. 

I listened vainly ; all was dumb and still 
I'pon the tidy where the stork resided, 

With upheld leg and red and open bill. 



FOLLY. 

BALLARD CRAIG. 

"PALMS in shadow — a drooping head, 

Crowned by a Folly's cap of red ; 
Violet eyes, 'twixt white lids pressed, 
Fingers fashioned to he caressed, 
A throat that gleams, in the shadows — white, 
Lips that tremble and half invite- - 
And I love her — tenderly — madly ! Yet — 
She loves not me^ — but to coquette ! 
And she'd probalily tremble and droop and pose 
For any other fellows she knows ! 

The shadow of palms — the lamps turned low, 
A strain of music— a fountain's flow ; 
Tender eyes of darkest brown. 
Before whose passion my eyes look down. 
Fingers closing over my own, 
With a touch that straight to my heart has flown 
And I love him — love him dearly ! Yet — 
lie's the most outrageous flirt in our set 1 
And he looks as tenderly — I suppose. 
In the eyes of every girl he knows ! 
47 



Till-: FAIR CoI'V HOLDER. 

ClIAKI.i:-; 11. rUANli.M.l.. 

AroN window frames hc-r likt- a saiiil 

Williin some old cathedral rare ; 
Perhaps she is not quite so (luainl, 
And yet I think lier full as fair ! 

All day she scans the written lines, 

Until the last dull proof is ended, 
Caliintj the various words and signs, 

I!y which each error may hj mended. 

An intcrcedin;^ angel, she. 

'Twixt printing press and author's pen ; 
Perhaps she'd find .some f.uills in me ! 

Say, maiden, can you not read men .■' 

forgive me, gentle girl. Init while 

You bravely work, I've been rellecting 

That somewhere in this world of guile 

There's some one's life needs your correcting. 

M.-thinks 'tis time you tried this art. 

Which makes the world's wide page read better 
J-'or love needs |iroving. heart with heart 

As well as type with written letter. 



A SUNG FOR THE IJICKURV TREE. 

CHARLI-S H. CRANDALL. 



A SONG for the hickory tree ! 
While the wind is blowing free, 
And the golden leaves and silver nuts 
Drop down for you and me ! 

As \vc liiiii the nuggets out 

Prom their crypts with merry shout, 

The air is filled with perfume distilled 
l^'rom the spices of the South. 

A health for the hickory tree ! — 
Rough-coated, hale and free — 

For its flesh is white and its heart is bright, 
And it laughs with you and me ! 

II. 
The squirrel says with a wink. 
'■Fd sing a song, I think, 

To the girl who stands with snow white hand< 
And eyes that tkish and blink. 

•49 



50 A SOXG FOR THK HICKORY TREE. 

"Whose flesh is white and strong, 
Whose heart is free from wrong, 

And sound and sweet as the nut at her feet. 
And better tlinii any song." 

So, take the song, my queen. 
For a kiss and a philopcne ! 

'Mid the goklen leaves and silver nuts, 
1 kneel on the carpet green. 



IN SWITZERLAND. 

W. A. CROFFUT. 

A T Chamouny I woke one morn. 
Hearing afar an Alpine horn 
Upon some glacier to the north, 
And thought, although it rained f(jrlorn, 
To saunter forth. 

There, in the hall, outside a door, 
Waiting their owners, on the floor 

I saw two shiny pairs of shoes, 
One pair was eights — or, may be, more ; 

The other, twos. 

I wondered who those gaiters wore 
That such a look of courage bore : 

They seemed alert and battle-scarred, 
And all their heels were wounded sore 

On mountain shard. 

The lofty insteps spurned the ground 
As if up high Olympus bound ; 

The tireless soles were worn away ; 
The smooth and taper toes were round 

And retrousse. 



/.\- sir/ TZERL , \ XD. 

Sudden my envious thought essayed 
To count the ccnquest they liad made, 

And all their pilgrimages view ; 
CJ'er glen and glacier, gorge and glade, 
-My fancy flew. 

1 saw them thread the IJrunig Pass; 
I saw them scale the Mer dc (ilace, 

And Riffleberg, beyond Zermatt ; 
I saw them mount the mighty mass 

(Jf (lorncr Grat. 

I saw tliem climb Dcrnina's height; 
I saw them bathe in Rosa's light 

And linger by the fJiessbacli Fall ; 
I saw them grope in Clondo's night 

And Miinster Thai ; 

I saw them find the Jungfrau's head 
And leaj) the Grimsel gorges dread. 

And Ixnind o'er Col de Collon's ice; 
And on Helle Tola's summit tread 

The edelweiss. 

The vision shamed my listless mood, 
Hanishcd my inert lassitude. 

And fired me with intent sul)linH-; 
I vowed when sunshine came I w(juld 

Gu fi^rth and climb. 



IN SWITZERLAND. 

With new ambition I arose, 

IJlessed the foot-gear from lieels to toes 

(One pair was eiglits ; llic oilier, twos), 
And thanked the owners brave of those 

Heroic shoes. 



IN ARCADIA. 

R. T. \V. DUKE, JR. 

F.CAUSE I choose to keep my seat. 

Nor join the giddy dancers' whirl, 
I pray you, do not laugh, my girl, 
Nor ask me why I find it sweet 
In my old age to watch your glee, — 
I, too, have been in Arcady. 

And though full well I know I seem 
Quite out of place in scenes like this, 
You can't imagine how much bliss 

It gives me just to sit and dream, 
As you flit by me gracefully, 
IIow I, too, dwelt in Arcady. 

For, sweetheart, in your merry eyes 
A vanished summer buds and blows, 
And with the same bright cheeks of rose 

1 see your mother's image rise, 
Antl, o'er a long and weary track. 
My buried boyhood wanders back. 

And as with tear-dimmed eyes 1 cast 

On your sweet form my swimming glance, 
I think your mother used to dance 



IN ARCADIA. 55 

Just as you do, in that dead past 
Long years ago — yes, fifty-three — 
When I, too, dwelt in Arcady. 

And in the nuisic's laughing notes 

I seem to hear old voices ring 

That have been hushed, ah, many a spring; 
And round about me faintly floats 

The echo of a melody 

I used to hear in Arcady. 

And yonder youth, — nay, do not blush, — 

The boy's his father o'er again ; 

And hark ye, miss ! I was not plain 
When at his age — what ! must I hush ? 

He's coming this way ? Yes, I see, — 

You two yet dwell in Arcady. 



AN OLD BACHELOR TO AX OLD MAIL). 

t 

MARGARET EYTINGE. 



I .\ early spring the song-birds sing, 

Tliis is Love's season. Soon shall spread 
A carpet green before liis feet, 
And crocuses and snowdrops bring 
A wreath to crown his lovely head. 
This is Love's season, — sweet, sweet, sweet! 

Then, youths and maidens, while yc may. 
Your sweethearts choose before the light 

That shines on springtime shall lutrcal. 
I'or, once that light has passed away, 
Life knows again no hours so bright, 

Si) full of gladness, — sweet, sweet, sweet. 

Now, I believe the birds are wrong, — 
That is, not altogether right, — 

Love may with partial eyes behold 
The sprin;^, but yet, the whole year long 
lie smiles with tendcrest delight 

On all true lovers, young and old. 

And though your early summer's fled, 
And though my autumn's almost here, 
. The lilies, blessed with love divine. 
Shall take the place of roses dead. 
Will you consent to pluck them, dear. 
With me, and be my valentine ? 

5f' 



RONDEL, 

ANNA MAKIA FAY. 

^liniENlovc is in lier cyrs 

Wliat nccil of t.priiu; lor me f 
A hriglitcr emerald lie> 
' )ii hill and vale and lea 

The azure of the skie> 

Holds naught so sweet to me ;. 
When love is in her eyes 

What need of sprint,^ for me ? 

Her bloom the rose outvies, 

The lily dares no plea. 
The violet's s^lory dies, 

No flower so sweet can he ; 
When love is in her eyes 

What need of spring for nu; ? 



BALLADE OF THE ROSE. 

H. C. FAULKNER. 

'' I '"ELL me, red rose, what you were bid,— 
* You know her secret ; you she wore 

Shy, nestling in her hair, half hid 
By jealous golden curls a score. 
As waves half timid kiss the shore, 

Then trcniljle were they bold or no; 
I kiss you, blushing token, for 

She loves me, — rose, you tell me so. 

I softly raise your scented lid, 

Where, sleeping since some dawn of yore, 
A crystal dcwdrop lies amid 

The downy crimson of your core. 

I am not versed in Cupid's lore ; 
But so I think her Ijlushing glow 

Soft guards the love I sue her for. 
She loves me, — rose, you tell me so. 



BALLADE OF THE ROSE. 

And when her hand, in dainly kid, 

Gave you to me, as ne'er before 
It fluttered, tried itself to rid 

Of fetters that it never wore, 

Wliy trembled she ? My eyes would pour 
My love in hers, — wliy did she so ? 

Was it because she hates me, or — 
She loves me,— rose, you tell me so. 

i.'emvoy. 

Rose, come you not ambassador 

From Cupid's court, to let mc know 

Love yields at last ? Speak, I implore ! 
She loves me, — rose, you tell me so. 



BETWEEN THE LINES. 

H. C. FAULKNER. 

" Cr\EAR MR. brown;'— I know she meant 
" Dear Jack " ; that D witli sentiment 
Is overweighted. 
Shy little love ! she did not dare ; 
That flutter in the M shows where 
She hesitated. 

The darling girl ! what loving heed 
She gives the strokes ; it does not need 

Great penetration 
To note the lingering, trusting touch ; 
As if to write to me were such 

.\ consolation. 

" The flowers came ; so kind of you. 
A tlwusand thanks I " Oh, fie! Miss Prue, 

The line betrays you. 
You know just there you sent a kiss ; 
You meant that blot to tell me this, 
And it obeys you. 

" They f^ove iiie sink u happy day. 
I loi'c them so. .She meant to say, 
" I5ecausc you sent them." 



BETWEEN THE LINES. 

liut tlicn, you bcc, llic page is small ; 
She wrote in haste — the words — and all, — 
I know she meant them. 

" .-// !ii>^/i( I kept ihcm near Die, too, 
^litd dreaint of theni,^^ she wrote, "and you," 

But would erase it. 
Did she but have one tender thought 
That perished with the blush it brought. 
My love would trace it. 

" This morning all the bads have blmon" 
That flourish surely is " Your own ; " 

'Tis written queerly ; 
She meant it so. Ah, useless task 
To hide your love 'neath such a mask 

As that " Sincerely." 

" Priidenee." Those tender words confess 
As much to me as a caress ; 

And, Prue, you know it. 
But then, to tease me, you must add 
Your other name, although you had 

Scarce space to do it. 

A dash prolonged across the sheet 
To close the note ? — the little cheat, — 

No. When she penned it 
She meant its quavering length to say 
That she could write to me for aye, 

And never end it. 



RETIVEEN THE LINES. 

I'lAic I Love is like the flame thai glows 
Unseen lill, lightly fanned, it grows 

Too fierce to quell it. 
Anil mine I All, mine is unconfesscd ; 
JUit now, — that dash and all IJie rest, — 

III have to tell it. 



HAl.LADE OF THE BALCONY. 

H. C. FAULKNER. 
Jh. 

/"^HEEKS tliat are sJiiralo wliite, 
^^ Eyes that are deep 7iankin blue, 
Heart that I fear me is quite 
Tlardeiiecl as porcelain too. 
She. 
Antique, of course, and a fright ! 
I'orcelain never is new. 

He. 
I know this passionless sprite. 
Sweet Miss Thalia; do you ? 
Fickle- as May 

She. 

And as bright ? 
He. 
Dances each night until two, 

Flirts on the lake by moonlight. 

a 
She. 

Home one must row the canoe. 

Ah, lovely empress of night ! 

Maidens must worsliip thee 



HALLADE OF THE nALCOS'V. 

lie. 

I'ooh ! 

I lianlly tliink this is ritjlil, 
Sweet Miss Thalia; do you ? 

SIu. 
Rut, if it give her delight ? 
Lovers are sadly too few. 
He. 
Vet, if she loved a poor wight. 
One, I should fancy, would do. 
She. 
Yes ; but is not the bold knight 
Sometimes a laggard to woo ? 
He. 
Think you she loves him a mite. 
Sweet Miss Thalia; do yoi; ? 

i.'envdy. 

She. 
Pray, sir I your arms are too tight '. 
Hj. 
Knights kissed their lady-loves true. 
Shf, 
•Then I think — mayhap — you — might 
He. 
Sweet Miss Thalia, do you ? 



THE GAME OF CHESS. 

DAVID S. FOSTER. 

" I ""WAS stinging, blustering, winter weather 
* How well I recollect the night ! 

When Kate and I played chess together. 
Her beauty in the hearth-fire's light 

Seemed more Madonna-like and rosy ; 

The hours were swift, the room was cozy, 
The windows frosted silvery white. 

Even now I see that grave face resting 
Upon the hand, so white and small ; 

I see that mystic grace, suggesting 
A painter's dream ; I oft recall 

Her glance, now anxious, gay, or tender ; 

The girlish form, complete yet slender, 
In silhouette against the wall. 

It was not strange that I was mated. 
For 'twas my fondly cherished aim. 

I longed to speak, but I was fated ; 
The rightful opening never came. 

I pawned my heart for her sweet favor, 

With every look some vantage gave her, 
An so, alas ! I lost the game. 



TIfE GAME OF CHESS. 

Since then, by fortune, love, forsaken. 

Through checkered years I've passed and seen 

My castles fall, my pawns all taken. 

My sjiotlcss knights jirovc traitors mean ; 

And worn with many a check, I wander 

Like tlie poor vanquished king, and ponder 
With sadness on my long-lost queen. 



AFTER THE BALL. 

MINNIE GILMORE. 

r\ H, little glove, do 1 but dream I hold thee, 
So warm, so sweet, and tawny as her hair ? 
Nay ! from her hand I dared unfold thee, 
As we went down the stair. 

She said no word; she did not praise nor blame me; 

She is so proud, so proud and cold and fair ! 
Ah ! dear my love, thy silence did not shame me 

As we went down the stair. 

Thy dark eyes flashed ; thy regal robes arrayed thee 
In queenly grace, and pride beyond compare; 

liut on thy cheek a sudden red betrayed thee. 
As we went down the stair. 

O lady mine, some near night will I prove thee ! 

By this soft glove I know that I may dare 
Take thy white hand and whisper, "Sweet, I love thee,' 

As we go down the stair. 



A LOST FRIEND. 

MINNIE GII.MORK. 

\/()UR soul, that for ycnrs I have counleil 

An open book, read to the end, 
Is loitered all strange, since a lover 
Looks out from the eyes of a friend. 

The white pages now arc turned rosy, 
The chapters are numbered anew. 

The old plot is lost, and the hero 
Who, up to last night, was just you — 

Just dear old friend Jack, and no other, 

To-night is a stranger, I vow ; 
And though I am fain to 1)0 gracious, 

Tlic truth is, I scarcely know how. 

Where now is your celibate gospel ? 

What now of Love's follies and faults ? 
Refuted last night when your lips, sir, 

Chassc'cd o'er my cheek in the waltz. 

Life-faith we swore, friendly fraternal 
To keep it — ah me ! iialf a year 



A LOST FRIEND. 

And I, Chloris now to your Strephon, 
Accept my new role with a tear, — 

A tear for the dear old dayc ended, 
A tear for the friend lost for aye, 

For careless old comradeship fleeing 
Forever liefore Love to-day. 

Dear, read me aright ! Though words falter, 
And lips prove but dumb, your heart hears 

The Jack of to-day I love truly. 
Yet oh for the Jack of old years ! 



RONDEAUX OF CITIES. 

kOUEKT GRANT. 
I. 

Rondeau A i.a ISoston, 

ACULTURKD mind ! Before I speak 
The words, sweet maid, to linge tliy cheek 
With blushes of tlie nodding rose 
Tliat on thy breast in l)eauty blows, 
I |)rithee satisfy my freak. 

Canst thou read Latin and eke flreek? 
Dost thou for knowledge pine and peek ? 
llast thou, in short, as I suppose. 

A culturcil mind ? 

Some men rc(|uire a mr.idcn meek 
Enough to cat at need the Icck ; 

Some lovers crave a classic nose, 

A liquid eye, or faultless pose; 
I none of tliese. I only seek 

A cultured mind. 



II. 

Rondeau A la Philadelphia. 

A pedigree! Ah, lovely jade ! 

Whose tresses mock the raven's sliaile, 
Before I free this aching breast 
I want to set my mind at rest ; 

'Tis best to call a spade a spade. 

What was thy father ere he made 
His fortune ? Was he smeared with trade, 
Or docs he Ijoast an ancient crest — 
A pedigree ? 

Brains and bright eyes are over-weighed ; 
For wits grow dull and beauties fade ; 

And riches, though a welcome guest, 

Oft jar the matrimonial nest. 
I kiss her lips who holds displayed 
A pedigree. 



III. 

Rondeau A la IUltimore. 

A I'REli Y face ! O maid divine. 
Whose vowels flow as soft as wine. 
Before I say upon the rack 
The words I never can take back, 
A moment meet my glance with thine. 

Say, art thou fair ? Is the incline 
Of that sweet nose an aquiline? 
Hast thou, despite unkind attack, 
A i^retty face ? 

Some sigh for wisdom. Three, not nine. 
The graces were. I won't repine 
For want of i^edigree, or lack 
Of gold to banish Care the black. 
If I can call forever mine 

A pretty face. 



IV. 

Rondeau A la New-York. 

A POT of gold ! O mistress fair, 
With eyes of brown that pass compare. 
Eve I on bended knee express 
The love which you already guess, 
I fain would ask a small affair. 

Hast thou, my dear, an ample share 
Of this world's goods? Will thy proud pere 
Disgorge, to gild our blessedness, 
A pot of gold ? 

Some swains for mental graces care ; 
Some fall a prey to golden hair ; 

I am not blind, I will confess. 

To intellect or comeliness ; 
Still let these go beside, ma chere, 
A pot of gold. 



I'RIVATE THEATRICALS. 

LOUISE IMOGENE GUINEY. 

\/()U were a haughty beauty, I'oUy, 

• (That was in the play,) 
I was the lover melancholy, 

(That was in the play.) 
And when your fan and you receded, 
And all my passion lay unheeded, 
If still with tenderer words I pleaded, 

That was in the j)lay ! 

I met my rival at the gateway, 

(That was in the play,) 
And so we fought a duel straightway, 

(That was in the play.) 
But when Jack liurt my arm unduly, 
And you rushed over, softened newly. 
And kissed me, Polly ! truly, truly. 

Was that in the play ? 



LO AND LU. 

LOUISE IMOGENE GUINEY. 

■yy HEN we began this never-ended, 

Kind companionship, 
Childish greetings lit the splendid 

Laughter at the lip; 
You were ten and I eleven ; 

Henceforth, as we knew. 
Was all mischief under heaven 
Set down to Lo and Lu. 

Long we fought and cooed together, 

Held an equal reign. 
Snowballs could we fire and gather. 

Twine a clover chain ; 
Sing in G an A flat chorus 

'Mid the tuneful crew 

No harmonious angels o'er us 
Taught us, Lo or Lu. 

Pleasant studious times have seen us 

Arm in arm of yore, 
Learned books, well thumbed between us, 

Spread along the floor; 



LO AND LU. 

Perched in pine tops, sunk in barley, 
Rogues where rogues were few. 

Right or wrong in deed or jiarley. 
Comrades, Lo and Lu. 

Which could leap where banks were wider. 

Mock the cat-bird's call ? 
Which preside and pop the cider 

At a festival ? 
Who became the finer stoic. 

Stabbing trouble through, 
Thrilled to hear of things heroic 

Oftener, Lo or Lu ? 

Earliest, blithest! then and ever 

Mirror of my heart ! 
Grow we old and wise and clever 

Now, so far apart ; 
Still as tender as a mother's 

Floats our prayer for two; 
Neither yet can spare the other's 

" God bless — Lo and Lu ! " 



BALLADE OF THE SHEPHERDESS. 

(IRREGULAR.) 
RUTH HALL. 

IN the dazzling blue and white of the tiles 

* As a mirror my dear love's face I spy ; 

From the mantel tree she looks down and smiles, 

WJiile my iieart goes up in an answering sigh. 

It's I am so lowly and she is so high, 
My bashful hope how could I confess. 

But an English pug, and yet dare to cry 
For the love of a china shepherdess ? 

She leans on the crook — oh, her winning wiles ! 

From my mistress' lap, where 1 idly lie, 
I watch, and I wish there were miles and miles 

(While my heart goes up in an answering sigh) 

'Twixt her and that boy with the butterfly. 
So pretty is he in his peasant dress, 

And so plain beside him, how should I try 
For the love of a china shepherdess? 



HALLADE OF THE SHEPHERDESS. 

There's an Angora cat my bark reviles, 

Did I love, mayhap she would make reply; 

But no ! to the mantel tree's dim defiles 
(While my heart goes up in an answering sigh) 
All pos'sible bliss must pass me by, 

And no one shall ever the secret guess : 
An unlucky dog is in misery 

For love of a china shepherdess. 

l'envoy. 

Ah, many a wight of more wit than I 

Is dying to live and living to die — 

Would give up his heart and his soul — no less 

For love of a china shepherdess ! 



WINTER'S WOOING. 

RUTH HALL. 

r^EAR heart of mine, true heart of mine, 
^""^ 'Tis time o' year for valentine ; 
Grim Winter doth his silence break 
Now, love to make, for April's sake ; 
Wild flov(f'rs entreat her face to greet 
When she shall come and make all sweet 
Before the light touch of her feel. 

Dear heart of mine, own heart of mine, 

Ah, well may Winter loud repine ! 

She turns before her suitor bold : 

He is so old, he is so cold — 

No ! dear is May, and near is May, 

He cannot, now, be far away. 

And so she says old Winter, Nay. 

Dear heart of mine, sweet heart of mine, 
Shall love meet love and make no sign ? 
The weeks they come, the weeks they gb ; 
Nor Winter's snow nor Summer's glow 
Can chill the land, can thrill the land. 
As look of eye and touch of hand 
May those true souls who imdcrstand ! 

7y 



TOO LEARNED. 

RUTH IIAI.I.. 

MA says I am lucky as I can be 
T(j marry Professor Gaunt, 
And Pa says he wonders what he can see 

In a girl like me to want ; 
And at first no one was prouder than I 
(His fame is world-wide, you know). 
But — I must tell some one or I shall die - 
Nell, it is awfully slow. 

I thought he'd come wooing like other men, 

In spite of being so wise, 
And say he loved me again and again, 

And praise my hair and my eyes. 
Hut he talks of things I can't understand, 

Of fossils and snakes and shells ; 
He never dreams of holding my hand, 

Or bringing me caramels. 

I want a lover to talk of love. 

Smooth my hair and look at me ; 
I want him to call me " Darling " and " 1 )ove,' 

And pull me down on his knee; 
I waul him to write me foolish rhymes, 

To give me some little siir])i ise : 
Well, I can't help it, 1 wish sometimes 

He wasn't so awfully wise I 
80 



MRS. GOLIGHTLY. 

GERTRUDE HALL. 

'"T^IIE time is come to speak, I think; 

* For on the square I met 
My beauteous widow, fresh and pink, 
Her black gown touched at every brink 
With tender violet. 

And at her throat the white crepe lisse 

Spoke in a fluffy bow 
Of woe that should perhaps ne'er cease, 
(Peace to thy shade, Golightly, peace !) 

Yet mitigated woe. 

In her soft eye, that used to scan 
The ground, nor seem to see, 
The hazel legend sweetly ran, 
" I could not wholly hate a man 
For quite adoring me." 

And when she drew her 'kerchief fine, 

A hint of heliotrope 
Its snow, edged with an inky line. 
Exhaled — from wliich scent you divine 

Through old regrets new hope. 

And then her step — so soft and slow, 
She scarcely seemed to lift 



MKS. COLIGHTLY. 

From off the sward her widowed toe, 
One year — one little year ago ! — 
So soft yet, yet so swift ; 

Then, too, her blush, her side glance coy, 

Tell me in easy Greek, — 
(I wonder could her little boy 
Prove source of serious annoy ?) 

The time is come to speak. 



ALNASCHAR — New-York. 1887. 

MviS. M. P. HANDY. 

1 A /HERE was I last week? At the Skinners' 

It's really a nice place to dine : 
The old man gives capital dinners, 

And is rather a good judge of wine. 
The daughters are stylish and pretty 

Nice girls ! eh ? Don't know them, you say ? 
Indeed ! That is really a pity ; 

I'll take you there with me some day. 

You'll be pleased with the eldest — Miss Carrie ; 

But Maude's ratlier more in my style. 
By George ! if a fellow could marry, 

There's a girl who would make it worth while! 
But it costs such a lot when you're doubled ; 

You must live in some style, — there's the rub. 
Now, a single man isn't so troubled, 

It's always good form at the club. 

As to Maude, she'd say yes in a minute, 
If I asked for her hand, I dare say : 

Soft, white hand, — if a fortune were in it, 
I'd ask her to have me today. 



ALNASC//.\K. 

Father ricli ? Well, you know there's nu knowing 
How a man will cut up till he's dead. 

Have I looked at his tax-list? I'm going 
To do it ; old hoy, that's well said I 

IJut even rich fathers aren't willing 

Always to come down with the pelf; 
They'll say they began with a shilling, 

And think you can do it yourself. 
What's tliat paper, just there ? The IIo»ie Jourual .' 

What's the news in society, eh? 
E.NOAGF.n ! Now, by all the infernal — 

It can't be; pass it over tliis way. 

Hm ! " ReceiUion, Club breakfast, Grand dinm-r. 

" We learn that the charming Miss Maude, 
Youngest daughter of Thomas O. Skinner, 

Is engaged to George Jones," — He's a fraud ! — 
■' Of the firm of Jones, Skinner & Haker. 

The marriage will take place in May." 
Hang the girl for a flirt, the deuce fake her! 

Well, what are ynu laughing at, eh ? 



DE CONVENANCE. 

MRS. M. P. HANDY. 

O (^ glad you are hei-e for the wecKling! 

I want you to see my trousseau. 
I'a gave me carte blanche for the outfit, — 

'Tis all he need give me, you know. 
'Tisn't every girl marries three millions, 

And so he's as pleased as can he. 
Here's the dress dear, white satin, Worth's latest, 

And the flounces and veil real point : see ! 

The girls are all dying with en\'y. 

Last summer at Newport, the way 
They courted the man for his money 

Was disgusting, I really must say. 
Oh, Tiffany's keeping my diamonds — 

I shouldn't feel safe with them here ; 
I think they will make a sensation ; 

No bride has had finer this year. 

Of course we are going to Europe, 
Tlie state-rooms are taken and all ; 

How long we shall stay I don't know, but 
I guess until late in the fall. 



DF. CON\-ENANCE. 

When we get back, Til give a grand ])arty. 

Tlie house he is building up town 
Will be something superb when it's finished; 

I wisli the man's name wasn't I'rown! 

In love with him? Jule ! wliy, you're joking; 

He's fifty at least, if a day ; 
But then, he is really in love, dear, — 

I'm sure I shnll have my own way. 
You know T was never romantic ; 

If he wants a pretty ynung wife, 
Why, I don't object to be petted 

And worshiped the rest of my life. 

It's wicked to marry for money ? 

Oh, yes, but who likes being poor ? 
Don't they say love flies out of the window 

Wiien poverty darkens the door ? 
1 did come near falling in love once 

With the handsomest fellow in town. 
An artist, with nothing but talent — 

My stars ! how the jiatcr did frown ! 

But now he's delighted. Three millions * 

What well-brought-up girl dare refuse ? 
And the other girls' mothers are wishing 

Their own daughters stood in my shoes. 
There's m^ ftanci' wow . See Iris horses ! 

Perhaps he does look rather grim. 
And wliat of the other young artist ? 

Ah, well, we won't talk about him ' 



A CHALLENGE. 

JAMES CLARENCE IIAKVEY. 

a /^OOU-iiight, " he said, and he held her hand, 

In a hesitatins^ way, 
jVnd hoped that her eyes would understand 
What his tongue refused to say. 

He held her hand and he murmured low ; 

" I'm sorry to go like this. 
It seems so frigidly cool, you know. 

This ' Mister ' of ours, and ' Miss.' " 

' ' I thought^perehance ' ' — and he paused to note 

If she seemed inchned to frown ; 
But the light in her eyes his heartstrings smote. 

As she blushingly looked down. 

She spoke no word, but she piekcd a speck 

Of dust from his coat lapel ; 
Si) small, such a wee, little, tiny fleck, 

'Twas a wonder she saw so well. 

Rat it brought her face so very near, 

In that dim, uncertain light. 
That the thought, unspoken, was made (|uite clear. 

And I know 'twas a sweet "Good-night." 
S7 



HALF A.\ HOUR i;i:i'()RE SUITER. 

URET UAKIK. 

kk V^< > bile's licrc. your iinkiunvn Dulciin.;i — ihc lady 

*■ you met on the train — 
And vou really believe she would know you if you were 
to meet her as^ain ? '" 

" Of course, " he replied, '• >he uoukl know me ; there 

never was womankind yet 
Forgot the efiect she inspired. She e.\cuses, but doe.'- 

not forget." 

• Then you tokl her your love? " asked the elder ; the- 

younger looked up with a smile ; 
"I sat by her side half an hour — what else was I doing 
the while ? 

'• What, sit by the sitlo of a woman as fair as the sun in 

the sky. 
And look somL-ulu-re elbj k't the dazzle (kish back. 

from your own to her eye ? 

•• No, I hold that the speech of the tongue be as irank 

and as bold as the look. 
And I held up herself to herself — that wa- mure than 

she got from the book." 



HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER. 89 

•' Young bluod ! " laughed the elder ; " no doubt you 

are voicing th'j mode of to-day ; 
Hut then we old fogies at least gave the lady some 

chance for delay. 

•■ There's my wife— (you must know) — we first met ou 
the journey from Florence to Rome ; 

It took me three weeks to discover who was she antl 
where was her home ! 

" Three more to bj duly presented ; three more ere I 

saw her again ; 
And a year ere my romance bc;:^a)i where yours ended 

that day in the train." 

" Oh, that was the style of the stage coach ; we travel 

to-day by express ; 
Forty miles to the hour, " he answered, "won't admit 

of a passion that's less." 

■' But what if you make a mistake? " quoth the elder. 

The younger half sighed : 
"What happens when signals are wrong or switches 

misplaced? " he replied. 

"Very well, I must bow to your wisdom," the elder 

returned, " but submit 
\ our chances of winning this woman your boldness has 

bettered no whit. 



go I/ALF A.V IfOUR III: FORE SUP PER. 

" W'liy, yijii do not at ljL-.st know licr name, ami what if 

I try your ideal 
With something, if not quite so fair, at least more en 

rrgL- and real ? 

" Let me find you a partner. Nay, come, I insist — 

you shall follow — this way. 
My dear, will you not add your grace to entreat .Mr. 

Rapid to stay ? 

' .My wife, Mr. Rapid — Eh, what I Why, he's gone- 

yct he said he w.juld come ; 
ll(jw rude ! I don't wonder, my dear, you arc 

l)roperly crinis<jn and dumb! " 



WHAT THE WOLF REALLY SAID TO LITTLE 
RED RIDING-HOOD. 

BRET IIAKTE. 

limNDERING Maiden, so puzzled and lair. 

Why dost thou murmur and ponder and stare ? 
" Why are my eyelids so open and wild ? " — 
Only the better to see with, my child ! 
Only the better and clearer to view 
Cheeks that are rosy and eyes that are blue. 

Dost thou still wonder and ask why these arms 
Fill thy soft bosom with tender alarms. 

Swaying so wickedly ? are they misplaced 

Clasping or shielding some delicate waist ? — 
Hands whose coarse sinews may fill you with fear, 
Only the better protect you, my dear ! 

Little Rjd Riding-Hood, when in the street. 
Why do I press your small hand when we meet ? 
Why, when you timidly offer your cheek. 
Why did I sigh, and why didn't I speak ? 

Why, well, you — see if the truth must appear 

I'm not your grandmother, Riding-Hood, dear ! 
9» 



A BOUTONNIERE. 

CHARLES HENRY Lt'DERS, 

A DEWY fragrance drifts at times 
Across my willing senses, 
And leads the rillet of my rhymes 
From city gutters, gusts, and grimes 
To lowland fields and fences. 

I seem to see, as I inhale 

This perfume faint and fleeting, 
Green hillsides sloping to a vale, 
Whose leafy shadows screen the pale 
Wood-flowers from noonday's greeting. 

I hear the song — the sweet heartache — 

Of just a pair of thrushes ; 
And hear, half dreaming, half awake. 
The ripple of a streamlet break 

Their momentary hushes. 

And why, dear heart, do I to-day. 

Hemmed in by court and alley, 
Seem lost in haunts of faun and fay ? 
Look ! — on my coat I've jiinncd your spray 

Of lilies of the valley. 

93 



ON A HYMN BOOK. 

W. J. IIENDEKSON. 

/^LD Hymn Book, sure I thought I'd lu.t yo; 

In the days now long gone by ; 
I'd forgotten where I tossed you ; 
Gracious ! how I sigh. 

IiT the church a thin partition 

Stood between her pew and mine ; 

And her pious, sweet contrition 
Struck nic as divine. 

Yes, remarkably entrancing 

Was she in her sable furs ; 
And my eyes were always glancing 

Up, old l)ook, to hers. 

Bless you, very \\ ell she knew it, 

And I'm sure she liked it too ; 
Once she whispered "Please don't do it," 

But her eyes said "Do. ' ' 

93 



ox A IIYMX BOOK 

How to spuiik — tn tell my passion ? 

How to make Hlt think mc true ? 
Love soon found a curious fashion, 

I-'or he spoke through you. 

How I used to search your pages 
For the words I wished to say : 

And receive my labor's wages 
Every Sabbath day ! 

Ah, how sweet it was to hand her 

^'ou, witli lines I\l marked when found ! 

And how well I'll understand her 
When she Ijjushed and frowned I 

And one day, old book, you wrii^'i;led 
l'"roni my hand a!ul. ratlliiv^. fell 

Upon the floor ; and she — she iji.LjLjIed — 
Did Miss Isabel. 

Then when next we met out walking,', 

1 was told in tearful tone.- 
How she'd get a dreadful talking 

I'rom th.,- Revei-end Jones. 

Ah me ! I\'o one tould resist her 
In tho-,c sweet and buried years ; 

So I think— I think I ki:;sed her, 
Ju>t to slop her tears. 



ON A //l".l/.\' nooK. 

Jones I gave a good sound chaffing ; 

Called his sermon dry as bones ; 
Soon fair Isabel was laughing 

Said she hated Jones. 

It was after that I lost you 
For I needed you no more ; 

Somewhere — anywhere I tosseil you ; 
On a closet floor. 

Reverend Samuel still preaches ; 

Isabel her past atones. 
In his Sunday school sh^ teachr^s— 

Mrs. Samuel Jones. 



PALMISTRY. 

W. J. HENDKKSON. 

/'^II, give mc, Eve, that lily hand — 
^^ Nay, slart not with that sucUlcu p.iow 
See, palmistry I understand ; 
I'll read these lines before I go. 

This head-line's full and broad and long,- 
I know by that to thought you're wed, 

And carry culture rich and strong 

Williin that graceful, gold-crown'il hcas.L 

This line of life is straight and deeji : 
By that I know your future's fair : 

Some happiness shall wake from sleep 
To light your life with blessings rare 

This licart-linc is so true — ah, will, 
One knows that looking in your I'ac^ 

And in your eyes, that truly tell 

How rich the heart must be in grace. 

Nay, more I dare not tell, 1 vow ; 

I can't — j)erhaps you may divine — 
l!ut ilon't you think, ])ray tell me, now, 

Your hand fits very well in mine ? 

y6 



MY AUNT. 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

A TY aunt ! my clear unmarried aunt 
Long ycar.s have o'er her flown ; 
Yet still she strains the aching clasp 

That hinds her virgin zone ; 
I know it hin-ts her — though she looks 

As cheerful as she can ; 
Her waist is ampler than her life, 

Fi>r life is but a span. 



My aunt ! my poor deluded aunt I 

Her hair is almost gray ; 
Why will she train that winter curl 

In such a spring-like way ? 
How can she lay her glasses down 

And say she reads as well, 
When, through a double convex lens, 

She just makes out to spell ? 
> 97 



98 My AUXT 

Her father — grandpapa ! forgive 

This erring lip its smiles — 
Vowed she should make the finest girl 

Within a hundred miles ; 
He sent her to a stylish school ; 

'Twas in her thirteenth June ; 
And with her, as the rules required, 

•'Two towels and a spoon." 

They braced my aunt against a board. 

To make her straight and tall ; 
They laced her up, they starved her down. 

To make her light and small ; 
They pinched her feet, they singed her hair, 

They screwed it up with pins ; — 
Oh, never mortal suffered more 

In penance for her sins. 

So, wdieii my precious aunt was done 

My grandsire brought her back ; 
(Hy daylight, lest some rabid youth 

Might follow on the track) 
" Ah ! " said my grandsire, as he shook 

Some powder in his pan, 
" What could this lovely creature do 

Against a desperate man ! " 

Alas ! nor chariot, nor barouche, 
Ni>r bandit cavalcade. 



Ml' AUA'T. 

Tore from llic trcmhlini,^ fatlier's arms 
His all-accom])lishL'd maid, 

For her how happy had it been ! 
And Heaven had spared to me 

To see one sad, uny;atliered rose 
On my ancestral tree. 



TO THE roRlRAIT ()F -A l.ADV." 

oI.IVKR WKNDKl.I. lIoLMES. 

"\ UKLL, Miss, I wonder where yuii live, 

I wonder what's your name. 
1 wonder how you came to he 

In such a stylish frame ; 
Perhaps you were a favorite child. 

Perhaps an only one ; 
Perhaps your friends were not aware 

You had your portrait done ! 

Yet you must be a harmless soul ; 

1 cannot think that Sin 
Would caro to throw his loaded dice, 

With such a stake to win ; 
I cannot think you wouKUprovoke 

The pou't's wicked pen. 
Or make youn^ women Mte their lips, 

Or ruin fine younj^ men. 

Pray, diel you ever hear, my love. 

Of boys that ^o about 
Who, for a very trillinj.; sum 

Will snip one's ])icture out ? 



ro T/rF. roRTRAir of " a lady:' 

I'm not averse to red and white, 
IJiit all thiii;j;s have llieii- place ; 

I think a profile cut in black 
Wnnld stiit your style of face I 

I love sweet features ; I will owr. 

That I sliould like myself 
To see my portrait on a wall, 

( )r bust upon a shelf ; 
l!ut nature sometimes makes one up 

Of such sad odds and ends. 
It really mit/lit he quite as well 

J lushed up amony one's friends! 



aUXT TAHITI ia. 

"I.UKR WKNDKl.l, I |i H.MKS. 

VUIIATEVER I <ln, and whatever I say, 

Aunt Tahitha tells me that isn't tlie \va\ : 
When j//<- was a i,'irl (forty summers :i<^i>) 
Aunt Taliitha tells mc they never did so. 

Dear aunt ! if I only could take h?r advice ! 
lint I like my own way, and I find it so nice ! 
And besides, I fortjet half the tliinj^'s I am told ; 
lint tlu-y all will cnnu- hack to me — when I am oM. 

Il a youth passes by, it may hajjpen, no doubt, 
He may chance to look in as I chance to look out ; 
S/ic' would never endure an impertinent stare — 
It is //<)rr/(/she says, and I mustn't sit there. 

A u.dk in the moonlight has pleasures, I own. 
l!ut it isn't quite safe to l)c walking alone; 
So I t.ike a lad's arm — just for safety, you knov.' — 
Jiiit Aunt Tabiiha tells me ///ry never did <■). 

I02 



AUNT TABITHA. 

IIdw wicked wo are, and how s^oud tliey were tlieii ! 
They kei)t al .inn's len^nli those deteslalile men : 
What an era of virtue she lived in — but stay — 
Were the vicn all such ro^rues in Aunt Tabitha's day ? 

If the men were so wicked I'll ask my papa 
How he dared to propose to my darling mamma ; 
Was he like the rest of them? Goodness! Who knows 
And what shall /say if a wretch should ])ropose? 

I am thinkini,' if Aunt knew so little of sin, ' 

What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been : 
And her grand-aunt — it scares me — how shockingly sa 
That we girls of to-day arc so frightfully Ijad ! 

-\ martyr will save us, and nothing else can — 

Let iitc perish — to rescue some wretched young man ! 

Though when to the altar a victim I go. 

Aunt Tabitha'll tell me she never did so ! 



IILAR'l AM) IIAXIJ. 

CllAKLKS LOTIN IIll.DUK IH. 



0\Vi:i; r, Ici mc rcacl thai little' [uliii 

rcichaiice 'tis true, us sages say, 
Tluit tlicrc is w rittcii many a charm 
'I'd draw thj future's veil awav. 



I press llie daiiily liiiLier-tips — 

'Tis a i^reliniinary part ; 
And hold them softly to my lips — 
Tis a requirement of the art. 

llere runs the life line, limi; and deep ; 

I'ew ero-ises on its siu)wy plain ; 
Ah, seldom, sweet one, may'st thou weep. 

And seldom know the tou..l» of pain ! 

And heie the line of wcallii I see, 
I-ost in a liroader line alt.ive ; 

I I I know aui^ht that line should he 
The siijn of true and perfeet love. 



HEART AND HAND. 

Ay, hill across the |Kilni il curvrs. 
And side liy side with lifu it tends ; 

It never falters, never swerves. 
And only with the lile it ends. 

And here aiiuther humbler line I 

'Tis that of one wlio loves thee dear ; 

Sec how it followeth close to thine. 
Yet dareth not approach too near ! 

Yet, stay ! they touch — thy Hue with his- 
Look where the fateful symbols meet 1 

Sure tliat conjunction means a kiss ! 
(-Ml, hasle, fullil the omen, sweet ! 



ONK (JF THE PACK. 

i;E()KGE I'ARSONS LATIlRor. 

T SEE how it is ; I'm one of the pack, 

A paltry playin^j card, nothins^ more ; 
V'ou shuffle and ileal, then take me hack, 

Or toss me to lie where I was before. 
There arc royal heads at your mimic court, 

But they fare no better; they're in the same lix ; 
For you vary the usual order of sport : 

You take what you please while you play your tricks 



\o doubt it serves well as a source of fun 

To match your lovers, this one against that ; 
ThouLjh perhaps when the evening's amusement is done 

And tlij i)ack ]nit aside, we sejm rather flat. 
liut suppose that i)y chance in the dead of the night, 

Wiien you dream with disdain of our bjint; inert. 
We should break your repose, rising uji in our might, 

And declare to vour face that our feelings arc hurt ? 



Oi\'E OF THE PACK. 107 

For, whatever you fancy, we each have a soul. 

And the rules that apply here arc oddly so i)ianned 
That while we seem bent Id your lingers's control 

And are played with, yet we too are taking a hand 
Don't you sec what a sequence of hearts you may break 

Willie attempting one mean little trump spot to save ? 
Or succumb to an equally luckless mistake 

And let a king go for the sake of a knave ? 

Does Tom's diamond take you, or is it my heart ? 

The deuce, after all will perhaps end the race ; 
Theu again, you may yield to young Algernon Smart, 

Or the c:)ne-eyed old banker's Cyclopean ace. 
The game's to be Lottery — so you said — 

Or Matrimony ? No ! both, I declare, 
Why, the next thing I know you'll take to old maid 

And leave me to sorrow and Solitaire. 

Cross purposes still I This never will do. 

Yoii'vc began Vingt-et-un ; P m at thirty-one — 
Just ten years apart. Oh, I wish I knew 

Some smoother way to make matters run I 
You change the game like a pantomime 

And now its euchre, I really believe. 
For you're trying to cheat me half of the time 

With a "little joker " — a laugh in your sleeve. 

Let us end this nonsense ! What do you say ? 
Leave me out and go on with the rest. 



k8 (hV/C OF THK PACK. 

Or (luuw tlij whole heap of cards away, 
And slake your all on a man as the best. 

Vou can't manage love according to Hoyle, 
And your effort to do so you surely would rue ; 

Besides what's the use of such intricate toil, 
You shall win all the games if I only win you ! 



LAST JULY. 

SOPHIE ST. G. LAWRENCE. 

HE'S barely twenty, and her eyes 
*^ Are very soft and very blue ; 

Her lips seem made for sweet replies, 

Perhaps they're made for kisses too ; 

Her little teeth are white as pearl, 
Her nose aspires to the sky ; 

She really is a charming girl, 
And I adored her— last July. 

We ilanced and swam, and bowled and walked ; 

She let me squeeze her finger tips ; 
Entranced I listened when she talked. 

And trash seemed wisdom from her lijxs. 
I sent her roses till my purse 

Was drained, I found, completely dry ; 
I longed to sing her charms in verse — 

But all of this was last July. 

Of course at last we had to part ; 

1 saw a tear drop on her check ; 
I left her with an aching heart, 

And dreamt about her— for a week. 

109 



LA SI- JULY 

Hul out of siglil is out of mind, 
And bonieliuw, as the time went by, 

Much fainter I began to find 
The mcinoi V of that last July. 

July has come again at last ; 

With summer gowns the rocks are gay 
It seemed an echo of the past 

To meet her on the rocks to-day. 
She's even fairer than of yore, 

And — yet I could not tell you why — 
I find the girl an awful bore — 

So long it is since last July, 



TIME'S REVENGE. 

WALTER LEARNED. 

\A7MEN I was ten and she fifteen — 

Ah me, how fair I Uiought her ! 
She treated with disdainful mien 

The liomage that I brought lier, 
And, in a patronizing way 
Would of my shy advances say: 

'• It's really quite absurd, you see ; 

He's very much too young for me." 

I'm twenty now; she, twenty-five — 
Well, well, how old she's growing ! 

I fancy that my suit might thrive 
If pressed again; Iiut, owing 

To great discrepancy in age, 

Her marked attentions don't engage 
My young affections, for, you see. 
She's really quite too old for me. 



ON THE FLY-LEAl- 
OF A BOOK OF OLD PLAYS. 

WALTER LEARNED. 

A T Cato's Head in Russell street 
^^ These leaves she sat a-stitching ; 
I fancy she was trim and neat, 
Blue-eyed and quite bewitchintj. 

Before her in the street below. 
All powder, ruffs, and laces, 

There strutted idle London l)eaux 
To ogle pretty faces ; 

While, filling many a Sedan chair 
With hoop and monstrous feather, 

In patch and powder London's fair 
Went trooping past together. 

Swift, Addison, and Pope, mayhaj) 
They sauntered slowly past her, 

Or printer's boy, with gown and cap, 
For Steele went trotting faster. 

For beau nor wit had she a look, 
Nor lord nor lady minding; 

She bent her head above this bu.k. 
Attentive to her binding. 



OiV THE FL V-LEA F OF A BOOK OF OLD PL A VS. 

And one stray thread of golden hair, 
Caught on her nimble fingers, 

Was stitched within this volume, where 
Until to-day it lingers. 

Past and forgotten, beaux and fair ; 

Wigs, powder, all out-dated ; 
A queer antique, the Sedan chair ; 

Pope, stiff and antiquated. 

Yet as I turn these odd old plays, 
This single stray lock finding, 

I'm back in those forgotten days, 
And watch her at her binding. 



MARJORIE'S KISSES. 

WALTER LEARN KI). 

\/[ ARJORIE laughs and climbs on my knee, 

^ And I kiss her and she kisses me. 
I kiss her, but I don't much care, 
Because, although she is charming and fair, 
Marjorie's only three. 

But there will come a time, I ween, 
When, if I tell her of this little scene, 
She will smile and prettily blush, and then 
I shall long in vain to kiss her again, 
When Marjorie's seventeen. 



MY MEERSCHAUMS. 

CHARLES F. LUMMIS. 

LONG pipes and short ones, straight and curved, 
High carved and plain, dark-hued and creamy ; 
Slim tubes for cigarettes reserved. 
And stout ones for Havanas dreamy. 

This cricket on an amber spear 

Impaled, recalls that golden weather 

When love and I, too young to fear 

Heartburn, smoked cigarettes together. 

And even now — too old to take 

The little papered shams for flavor — 

I light it oft for her sweet sake 
Who gave it, with her girlish favor. 

And here's the mighty student bowl 

Whose tutoring in and after college 
Has led me nearer Wisdom's goal 

Than all I learned of text-book knowledge. 

" It taught me ? " Aye, to hold my tongue. 
To keep a-Hght and yet burn slowly ; 

To break ill spells about me flung 

As with the enchanted whiff of Moly ! 



A/]- MEERSCHAUMS. 

This narghileli, \\ hose hue betrays 

Perique from soft Louisiana, 
In Egypt once beguiled the days 

Of Tewfik's dreamy-eyed Sultana. 

Speaking of color, do you know 

A maid witli eyes as darkly splendid 

As are the hues tliat rich and slow- 
On this Hungarian bowl have lilended ? 

Can artist paint the fiery glints 

Of this quaint finger here beside it, 

With amber nail — the lustrous tints, 
A thousand Partagas have dyed it ? 

" And this old silver patched affair ? " 

Well, sir, that meerschaum has its reasons 

For showing marks of time and wear ; 
For in its smoke through fifty seasons 

My grandsire blew his cares away ! 

And, then, when done with life's sojournin;j, 
At seventy-five dropped dead one day, 

That pipe between his set teeth burning ! 

" Killed him ? " No doubt ! it's apt to kill 

In fifty years' incessant using — 
Some twenty pipes a day. And still, 

On that ripe, well filled lifetime musing, 

I envy oft so bright a part — 
To live as hmg as life's a treasure; 



MV MEERSCHAUMS. 117 

To die of — not an aching heart, 
But — half a century of pleasure ! 

Well, well ! I'm boring you, no doubt ; 

How these old memories will undo one — 
I see you've let your weed go out — 

That's wrong ! Here, light yourself a new one ! 



MV CIGARETTE. 

CHARLES F. I.IMMIS. 

\/i V cigarette I The amulet 

Tliat charms afar unrest and sorrow ; 
The magic wand that far beyond 

To-day, can conjure up to-morrow. 
Like love's desire, thy crown of fire 

So softly with the twilight blending; 
And ah ! meseems, a poet's dreams 

Are in thy wreaths of smoke ascending. 

My cigarette! Can I forget 

How Kate and I, in sunny weather, 
Sat in the shade the elm-tree made 

And rolled the fragrant weed together? 
I at her side i)eatified. 

To hold and guide her fmgers willing; 
She rolling slow the paper's snow, 

Putting my heart in witli tlv fdling. 

My cigarette ! I see her yet. 

The white smoke from her red lips curling, 
Her dreaming eyes, her soft replies, 

Her gentle si^hs, her laughter purling! 
7' iis 



.1/1' CICAKKTTE. 

Ah, (laiiily roll, whose parting soul 
Ebbs out in many a snowy billow, 

I too wouki Inirn if I could earn 
Uj)on her lips so soft a pillow ! 

Ah, cigarette ! The gay coquette 

Has long forgot the flames she lighted. 
And you and I unthinking by 

Alike are thrown, alike are slighted. 
The darkness gathers fast without, 

A rain-drop on my window plashes ; 
My cigarette and heart are out, 

And naught is left me but the ashes. 



A BOUTONNIERK. 

JKROMK A. HART. 

A HOUTONNIERE! A dainty thing- 
■'' Were I a poet I Avould sing 
In flowing verse thy beauties rare, 
O boutonnicre ! 

The steel-clad knight wore on his crest 
A ribbon from his lady's breast ; 
The modern lover still doth wear 
Her boutoniiiore. 

A hud from her corsage bouquet. 
Sonic heliotrope in volute spray, 
A tendril, too, of niaiden"s-hair — 
Ah, boutonnicre. 

Those tendrils wind around mv heart. 
The rose-bud's ihnrns have luadc nic smart 
Would I could think thou wcrt no snare. 
O boutonnicre i 



DECEPTION. 

CHARLES HENRY Li'DERS. 

IT took just a clay to discover 
That all my precautions were ;///. 

I loved her — ah ! how I did love her — 
And, I must confess, love her still. 

As we walked where the moon lit the woolly 
White back of each in-coming wave, 

.She seemed to reciprocate fully 
The tender afiection I gave. 

We parted. Last week slie was married : 
The wedding was private and nice. 

On leaving, the couple were harried 
With slippers and handfuls of rice. 

And now she is back in the city. 

Installed in the coziest home, 
With a husband who thinks it a pity 

An hour from his " precious " to roam, 

And / — well, I count myself lucky; 

And need no consoling, for she — 
The dear little darling, the " ducky " — 

Was good enough to — marry tnc. 



AN AMERICAN GIRL. 

BKANDER MATTHEWS. 

PHE'S had a Vassar education, 

And points with pride to her degrees 5 
Slie's studied liousehold decoration ; 

Slie knows a dado from a frieze. 

And tells Corots from Boldinis ; 
A J,i(|uenuirt etchiiit(, or a I laden. 

.\ Whistler, too, perchance might please 
A frank and free youni^ Yankee maiden. 



She does not care for meditation ; 

Within her bonnet are no bees ; 
She has a t^entle animation. 

She joins in singing simple glees. 

She tries no trills, no rivalries, 
Willi Lucca (now Baronin Riidcn) 

Witii Nilsson or with Clerster : s]ie'> 
A frank and free young Yankee maiden. 



AN AMERICAN GIRL. 123 

I'm blessed above the whole creation, 

Far, far, above all other he's, 
I ask you for congratulation 

(Jn this the best of jubilees ; 

I go with her across the seas 
Unto what Poc would call an Aiden, — 

I hope no serpents there to tease 
A frank and free young Yankee maiden. 



Princes, to you the western breeze 
Bears many a ship and heavy laden, 

What is the best we send in these ? 

A frank and free young Yankee maiden. 



THE BALLADE ( )E AI )APTATI()\. 

I'.RANDEK MATTHEWS. 

'T'lIE native drama's sick and dyiiii;. 

So say the cynic critic crew : 
The native dramatist is cryin<^ — 

" Briny me the paste ! Brint; me the glue ! 

Bring me the pen, and scissors, ton ! 
Bring me the works of E. Augier ! 

Bring me the works of V. Sanhm ! 
I am the man to write a play." 

For want ot plays the stage is sighing. 

Such is the song the wide world through -; 
The native dramatist is crying — 

" Behold the comedies I Inew ! 

Behold my dramas not a few ! 
On German tarccs I can prey. 

And English novels I can brew ; 

/ am the man to write a play ! " 
124 



THE BALLADE OE ADA rTATlON. 

Tlicre is, indeed, wo one denyiiirr 

That fashion's turned from old to new ; 

The native dramatist is crying- - 

"Moliere, good-by ! Shakespeare, adieu 

I do not think so much of you. 

Although not had, you've had your day, 
And for the present you won't do, 

T am the man to write a play ! " 



Prince of the stage, don't miss the cue, 

A native dramatist, I say 
To every cynic critic, " Pooh ! 

I am the man to write a play I " 



MliA CULPA. 

KDWARD S. MARTIN. 

np 1 1 IIRE is a thing which in my brain, 

' Tiiough nightly I revolve it, 
1 cannot in the least explain, 

Nor do I hope to solve it. 
While others tread the narrow path 

In manner meek and pious, 
Why is it that my spirit hath 

So opposite a bias ? 

I had no yearnings, when a lioy, 

To sport an angel's wrapper ; 
Nor heard I with tumultuous joy 

The churcli-frcfiucnling clapper. 
My action always harmonized 

With my own sweet volition ; 
I always did what I devised, 

But rarely asked permission. 

I went to school. To study ? No ! 

I dearly loved to dally. 
And dawdle over Ivanhoe, 

Tom Brown, and Charles O'Malley. 
8 126 



ME A CULPA. ; 

In recitation 1 was used 

To halt on every sentence ; 
Repenting, seldom I produced 

Fruits proper for repentance. 

At college later I became 

Familiar with my Flaccus ; 
Brought incense to tlie Muses' flame. 

And sacrificed to Bacchus. 
I flourished in an air unfraught 

With sanctity's aroma; 
Learned many things I was not taught, 

And captured a diploma. 

I am not well provided for, 

I have no great possessions ; 
I do not like the legal or 

Medicinal professions. 
Were I of good repute, I might 

Take orders as a deacon ; 
But I'm no bright and shining light, 

But just a warning beacon. 

Though often urged by friends sincere 

To wed a funded houri, 
1 cannot read my title clear 

To any damsel's dowry ; 
And could to wedlock I induce 

An heiress, I should falter, 
For fear that such a bridal noose 

Might prove a gilded halter. 



AfEA CULPA. 

My tradesmen have suspicious grown, 

My friends are tired of giving ; 
Upon the cold, cold world I'm thrown 

To hammer out a living. 
I fear that work before me lies ; 

Indeed, I see no option, 
Unless perhaps I advertise — 

"An orphan for adoption." 



INFIRM, 

EDWARD S. MARTIN. 

" I WILL not go, " he said, " for well 

* I know her eyes' insidious spell, 
And how unspeakable he feels 
Who takes no pleasure in his meals. 
I know a one idea man 
Should undergo the social ban, 
And if she once my purpose melts, 
I know I'll think of nothing else." 

" I care not though her teeth are pearls ■ 
The town is full of nicer girls ; 
I care not though her lips are red — 
It does not do to lose one's head; 
I'll give her leisure to discover. 
For once, how little I think of her ; 
And then, how will she feel ? " cried he. 
And took his hat and went to see. 



129 



rilE ROSE SHE WORE IX WINTER. 

LOUISE CIIANDI.KR MolLTitN. 

/ \ ROSE, so siil)tly sweet, 

Wli;it tlost thou ill the snow — 
The time of frost and sleet, 

Wlieii roses should not l)low — 

riayiii;^ at sunimc-r so ? 

When we tliat l>eauty meet, 
Which nightingales in June 

Eor love and bliss entreat, 
With what cold, wintry nnie 
Shall we thy ])raise cntune ? 

Afy Rose, so subtly sweet. 
Thy rose-red li|)s I kiss ; 

I kneel at thy dear feet. 

Dear Rose, and do not miss 
The summer's bygone bliss. 

'JO 



A LITTLE COrvrRDY. 

LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 

TSthc world the same, do you think, my dear, 

As wlieii we walked by the sea together. 
And the white caps danced and the cliffs rose sheer^ 
And we were glad iu the r.utuma weather ? 

You played at loving that day, my dear — 
How well you told me that tender story — 

And I made answer, with smile and tear. 

While the sky was flushed with the sunset's glory 

Now I shut my eyes, and I see, my dear, 
That far-off path by the surging ocean — 

I shut my eyes, and I seem to hear 

Your voice surmounting the tide's commotion. 

It was but a comedy slight, my dear — 
Why should its memory come to vex me ? 

(';;n it be I am longing that you should appeal 
And play it again ? My thoughts perplex me. 



132 W L/TTLK COMEDY. 

'Tis the sea and the shore that I miss, my dear — 
The sea and the shore, and the sunset's glory — 

(.)r would these he nothing without you near, 
To murmur again that fund, old story ? 

1 know you now hut too well, my dear — 

With your heurt as liglit as a wind-lilown kalhcr- 

Vct somehow the world seems cold and drear 
Without your acting, this autunui weather. 



IN WINTER. 

LOUISE CHANULKR MOl'LTON. 

(\ T*^ go l>ack to the days of June. 

Just to be young and alive again, 
Hearken again to the mad, sweet tune 

Birds were singing witli might and main 
South they flew at the summer's wane, 

Leaving their nests for storms to harrv. 
Since time was coming for wind and rain 

Under the wintry skies to marry. 

Wearily wander by dale and dune 

Footsteps fettered with clanking chain — 
Free they were in the days of June, 

Free they never can be again : 
l'"etter3 of age and fetters of pain. 

Joys that fly, and sorrows that tarry — - 
Youth is over, and hope were vain 

I'niler the wintry skies to marrv. 
133 



/.V WINTER 

Now we chant but a desolate rune — 

" O to be young and alive again ! " — 
But never December turns to June, 

And length of living is length of jmin 
Winds in the nestless. trees complain, 

Snows of winter alxiut us tarry, 
And never the birds come back again 

Under the wintry skies to marry. 



Youths and maidens, blithesome and vain. 
Time makes thrusts that you cannot parry, 

Mate in season, for who is fain 

Under the wintry skies to marry ? 



THE BALLADE OF THE ENGAGED 
YOUNG MAN. 

R. K. MUNKITTRICK. 

/"^H, I am engaged to be married now, 
^^^ And fondly dream of the happy day 
When orange blossoms shall deck her brow ; 

She's fixed the date for the month of May. 

And yet to myself I softly say, 
As her holiday presents go ding-a-ling 

On the jeweler's flashing crystal tray, 
" I wish I had put it off till spring ! " 

As a prince I am merry, all allow ; 

I'm like a bird in the hawthorn spray. 
Or a clam when the tide is high, I vow. 

Or a child with his latest toy at play. 

Yet I have to think, as I coolly lay 
My earnings down to hear Patti sing, 

" Though my lady's an angel in every way, 
I wish I had put it off till spring ! " 



'jfi THE BALLADE OF THE ENGA GED YOUNG MAN. 

I (iance and I romp and I wonder how 
I should ever be happy or blithe or gay, 

Did not Love with his sweets my heart endow — 
(He endowed when she said she'd be mine for aye) 
Yet when roses I get, or the bright coupe. 

And down to the charity ball we wing, 
I fancy of sense I have not a ray, 

And wish I had put it off till spring ! 



Young man, I am neither old nor gray ; 

But I can inform you of just one thing : 
y<7«'ll chant, if you get her December " Yea," 

" I wish I had put it off till spring ! " 



AN OLD BEAU. 

R. K, MUNKITTRICK. 

pULL often I think in my trim swallow-tail, 

At parties where flowers their fragrance exhale, 
Of times when my pate was a bower of curls, 
And I danced with the grandmas of all the dear girls. 

I look on the charms that their beauties unfold — 
They seem the same damsels while I have grown old. 
I feel like white winter without a warm ray ; 
They look like the roses that blossom in May. 

But winter may look with its shiver and chill 
Through the windows at flowers that bloom on the sill, 
And I may ask Edith with ringlets of jet 
If she will dance with me the next minuet. 

I go to all parties, receptions, first nights, 
I'm a merry old bird in my fanciful flights ; 
I may look, like the winter, a snowy old thing, 
But deep in my heart dwells the spirit of spring. 

I know that I am not as old as I look. 
My voice has no crack and my back has no crook ; 
And happy I'd be if May, Maud, and Lucille 
Would treat me as one who's as young as I feel. 



PR.F.SKXS KF.dXAT. 

UUKFIKLD OSBORNE. 

fJOW often have I asked tliee, clear, 

If thou didst love but me ? 
How oft thy whisper in mine ear 
Hath answered tenderly ? 

And deftly I tlie truth can trace 

rii.it in that answer lies, 
For I do ever see my face 
Deep pictured in thine eyes. 



Ah me ! a tale of hroken vows 

I.-1 riiii;in'j^ mournfully, 
A I'ird that dwells amonj^ the hou^li: 

Hath sung a song to me. 

Think not he sang her heart to win, 
Trust not her eyes ; beware ! 

For whosoever looks therein 
Heholds his likeness there I 
'38 



TO A CORKSCREW. 



DUFFIELI) OSBORNE. 



'yilOU who to burdened brain, and troubled heart 

Dost wind thy way with gently sinuous art, 
Slender, and graceful, curled with skill divine ; 
Mirth, riot, and revelry are ever thine 
Whose office 'tis to seek and free the captive wnic. 

Hail ! to thee men below and gods above 
Attune their lays of homage and of love ; 
Fair silver ringlet ! thou dost ever cling 
With truer faitli to peasant and to king 
Than curls of brown or gold that lovesick poets sing. 
139 ' 



WE PARTED AT THE OMNIBUS. 

1)1 >NN I'lATT. 

"\irE partctl at tlic tnnnibus, I iiL-vcr can fori(ct 

Your eyes, my dove, like stars aljovc,- with dew 

were heavy wet ; 
Vuur iugt^as^c, love, I handed up as the driver roun<l 

tlid imli, 
I could not speak for, () my heart, like the omnil>u>. 

was full. 

\'()ur slender hand's sixd)Uttoned ghjve lay nestling soft 

in mine. 
Your clinging gown, my sweetest love, in lit was just 

divine ; 
■• Through life, my ])et, I go wiiii thee." I tremlilingly 

begun. 
When spoke a derman i)assenger, " Dere's only zeals 

vor vun." 

y\y miniature you had, my face all jjaiiited smootli and 

Mand ; 
N'liur |)h()t(>, li)ve. you gave me as tlie .igent gave his 

lumd : 



ly/i PARTED A r THE OM-VIBUS. 141 

" You'll write to me, I knnvv you will, this achiny; 

heart to ease, 
Ami ev^Ty line from you will lie "— " Miss, ten cents, 

if you please." 



I put you in a corner, aear, to take that dreary ride, 
I saw a suit of striped tweed close sitting liy your side; 
With gun and hound from out the town to hunt 'twas 

going down, 
I heard a suit of rusty black call stripes a Mr. Brown. 



With wooden damn the stage-door slammed, and shut 

me from your sight. 
My heart went throbbing "all is wrong ! " the agent 

cried " all right ! " 
From out my life, you rolled away with unexpected 

speed , 
Three trotting hat-racks in the team, a rocker in the 

lead. 



The war camfe on, as volunteer my gallant troops I led, 
And lost a leg at Shiloh, when old Sherman lost his 

head ; 
And Brown was there, a sutler bold, resplendent in the 

blue, 
He fought for flag and country where the profits did 

accrue. 



,42 /A'--" I'ARTEn AT THE OMNIBUS. 

Wlic-ii Pcacj licr (l)Wiiy ]niiio:is spread o'er all our land 

and sea, 
I >tunii>ed me home a veteran m iih war's sad legacy ; 
1 soujjht you, love, to find alas ! no footing left to mc. 
For General Brown was t(j tlic front, a millionaire was 

he. 

'Twas at a grand re-union giv'n in honor of our cause, 
The banners waved, the champagne pojiped, I got 

some wild applause ; 
1 saw you enter, sweet ami fair, tlie (ieneral led you 

down, 
You leaned to him so lovingly, he called you Mrs. 

Brown. 



AT MRS. MILLIDOR'S. 

SYDNEY HERBERT PIERSON. 

T WAS down at the Millidors' Thursday,— 

They receive on that cvenirtg, you know, — 
And could hardly have chosen a worse day. 

With the slush, and the rain, and the snow; 
But the parlors were filled to o'erflowing,— 

Lots of people you know, I presume, — 
But I thought it was dull, and was going. 

When Ethel came into the room. 

There was Mrs. Fitz-Simmons de Brown there. 

Who gave such a dinner last fall ; 
And every one else in the town there. 

Who's really worth knowing at all : 
Miss Tinsel, considered a Hebe 

By people who know or assume — 
You'd have wondered how ever could she be 

When Ethel came into the room. 

There was fat Mrs. Space and a lady 
(A widow that never wore weeds) 

Hinting somebody's past was too shady: 
Miss Slur, sowing venomous seeds; 



AT MRS. MILLIDOR'S. 

Miss Wilted, sarcastic and spiteful, 
Putting Dowager Dash in a fume: 

How odd they should be so delightful 
When Ethel came into the room. 

Of course there were long recitations, 

Some songs sprinkled in here and there. 
Not to mention the minor vexations 

One had to look pleased at and bear ; 
Spout, primed with those verses from Browning 

He'll recite till the trumpet of doom : 
Ah ! he was the only one frowning 

When Ethel came into the room. 

A girl with a mournful expression 

Was speaking a dolorous thing — 
A horrible sort of confession 

(3f dead hopes and years taken wing. 
She had throttled a passion : 'twas fearful 

How the corpse would stalk out of its tomb; 
But it seemed, on the whole, rather cheerful 

When Ethel came into the room. 

The dowagers' wrinkled old faces 

(ircw older by ten years or more, 
The color of costly old laces, 

The rest not a bit as before. 
In the air was a sound as the humming 

Of bees, and a subtle perfume 
Then I knew ere I looked she was coming, 

When Ethel came into the room. 



A T MRS. MILLIDOR-S. 

But there's always a fly in the ointment, 

The lute has a rift, as a rule ; 
Joy brings in its train disappointment, 

And tears choke the jest of the fool; 
So I thought of that swell marriage lately, 

Where gouty old Croesus was groom. 
As he ambled behind her sedately 

When Ethel came into the room. 



BALLADE OF MIDSUMMER. 

SYDNEY HF.RHERl PIERSON. 

'"T* 1 1 ROUGH murky panes of dusty glass 
* Where swarm slow, sleepy flies, I gaze 
Down on the street. Like burnished brass 

The stones reflect the sun's hot rays ; 

I liear tlie heavy-laden drays 
CJo rumbling throuc^h the dust and dirt; 

111 thought I see the cliffs and Ijays 
At Newport or at Mount Desert. 

At length upon the brcc/.c-swcpt grass 
I watch tiie ocean tlirough the haze, 

And one besides, whose smiles surpass 
.\11 nature's wiles. The sea-wind plays 
Among her locks. A nymph who strays, 

Klue-jcrseycd, in a killed skirt. 

Ah me ! the hearts she sn.ires and slays 

.\l Newport or at Mount Desert. 
9* Mt- 



BALLADE OF MIDSUMMER. 

Time flies no more for me, alas ! 

He only comes and idly stays, 
Too warm to make the moments pass 

And hurry on vacation's days; 

While tantalizing fancies raise 
Cool dreams of beaches ocean-girt, 

Beyond the city's busy maze, 
At Newport or at Mount Desert. 

ENVOY. 

Fate, lead me by those summer ways 
Where happy mortals dance and flirt. 

And thou shalt have thy meed of praise 
At Newport or at Mount Desert. 



VIOLKTS. 

KUNKST 1)I-: l.ANCKY I'lKRSoN 

"inoLl-yrS, dainty .iiul sweet. 

Horn of tlie dews and the May 
Nul in tlie dust and the heat 
1 leave you to perish to-day. 

Nay, in the lordliest state 

Proud shall you go to your rest, 
Kings could hut envy your fate, 

Dying to-night on her breast. 



BLOWIXr, ]!U]51;LKS. 

ERNEST DK LANCICV JMKRSUN. 

T CAN see you standing there 

In your Watteau dress 
By the tapestry portiere, 
Firelight on your yellow hair, 
Daintier I'm sure was ne'er 

Dresden shepherdess. 

Laughingly you stooped and blew 

Bubbles in the air : 
Globes of irridescent hue, 
Flashing opals, bright as dew — 
But my eyes were all on you. 

(^)acenly, standing there. 

I, upon that very night, 

Formed a bubble too, 
Silvery with your smiles, and bright 
With your blue eyes' lustrous light 
That seemed ever to invite 

t)ne to come and wdj. 



liLOWIXG BUDULES. 

Frail my argosy, and fair 
With delusive hope ; 
Soon, ah ! soon, to my despair, 
Learned I when it Inirst in air 
It was made — as others were — 
( )nly <iiit of soap 1 



AN APRIL MAID. 

SAMUEL MINTURN PECK. 

'np RIPPING through the April breeze 

In a kirtle blue, 
Brighter blossom mellow bees 
Ne'er in summer woo. 

From her little scarlet mouth 

Rills of song are gliding, 
Ballads of the balmy South 

In her memory biding. 

She is winsome, she is shy, 

Clad in sweet apparel; 
Like the song of Lorelei 

Floats her dainty carol. 

Round about her wayward hair 

Tricksy fairies hover, 
Tripping sunbeams unaware — 

Who could choose but love her ! 

Up and down her velvet cheek 

Dimples chase her blushes. 
Will she listen if I speak 

When her carol hushes ? 



/liV APRIL MAID. 

Be my falc or drear or bright, 
Soon, ah soon, I'll know it ; 

If I may not be her knighl. 
Still I'll be her (joet. 



A SOUTHERN GIRL. 

SAMUEL MINTURN PECK. 

IT ER dimpled cheeks nre pale ; 
* * She's a lily of the vale, 

Not a rose. 
In a muslin oi- a lawn 
She is fairer than the dawn 

To her beaus. 

Her boots are slim and neat, — 
She is vain about her feet 

It is said. 
She amputates her r's. 
But her eyes are like the stars 

Overhead. 

On a balcony at night 
With a fleece cloud of white 

Round her hair — 
Her grace, ah, who could paint ? 
She would fascinate a saint, 

I declare. 

'Tis a matter of regret, 
She's a bit of a coquette 
Whom I sing : 

15.1 



A SOUTHERN GIRL. 

On her cruel path she goes 
Willi a half-a-dozen hcaus 
To her string. 

But let all of that pass by, 
As her maiden moments fly 

Dew empearled ; 
When she marries, on my life, 
She will make the dearest wife 

In the world. 



A 



COURTING AN HEIRESS. 

WALLACE PECH. 

Tlid Lover. 

HUNDRED thousand jjcns have traced 
The ecstasies of love ; 
A hundred thousand hearts have t^raced 

Tliat Iwon froai gods above. 
A hundred thousand maids have shared 

In Cupid's fond desire ; 
.\ hundred thousand youths have dared, 

For love, the parents' ire. 
A hundred thousand pairs, I ween, 

Will wedded be ere long, 
What says my hundred thousand <,)ueen — 

Shall 7Ct' augment the throng ? 

The Heiress. 

A hundred tliousand times I've said, 
•' <Jh, heart ! your wish I know " 

These hundred thousand tears I shed 
Hymeneal longings show 
"'55 



,56 C(Kr/i r/XG A.v ///■://! /CSS 

A hundred thousand si;^hs — nirless — 

I've cast, when we're apart ; 
A hundred thousand times now j^ress 

Me to your loving heart. 
I'll send a hundred thousand miles 

To order my Irons scan 
And we'll to the (hundred) Thousan<l Isle? 

After the wedding go. 



TO A SLIPPER. 

WILLIAM THEODORE PETERS. 

■" I ''() this Complexion has your faded satin 

* With much ill usage come at last, and so 
You stand in haughty silence on my mantle, 

A high-heeled slipper with a pointed toe. 
Does there still linger in your dainty creases 

Some faint, dim flutterings of soft regret 
For gay young hearts that once beat time so wildly. 

Watching you tripping through the minuet? 

What of sweet faces brave in rouge and patches, 

And powdered heads and men in smalls arrayed, 
Half mad with admiration at your glancing 

From quilted petticoat and stiff brocade? 
What of soft eyes, round arms, and burning blushes ? 

What of the gallant Tory in nankeen 
Who made such fine remarks that evening, walking 

Along the Battery to Bowling Green ? 

What of the catches trolled, the treasonous ballads, 
The brilliant wit about the steaming bowl 

Of Christmas punch ? Ah ! surely such bright memories 
Must still be stored within your leather sole. 

'o7 



,-i} TO A SLirPF.R 

And toll me, was nol thai llic gladdest scene, and merriest 

Of all the many scenes you moved among — 
The day that Polly Henderson was married in you, 
Tiic slipper only held its satin tongue? 



TATTINCi. 

DAVID I.. rilDUDriT. 

"\inTII figure demure, and diiwncast lace, 

And a tranquil air of quiet grace. 
Her delicate fingers deftly wrought 
A pattern as fine as a fairy's tliought, 
Tatting that day ! 

(_)h, maiden fair, with the silken hair. 
And the shining eyes of a lustre rare, 
What abracadabra, mysterious spell 
Is thy flying shuttle weaving so well. 
Tatting today. 

Ah, sir, I work to have my wa)' 
In the perfumed air of a gracious da)', 
My nimble fingers are weaving a snare 
To entangle human hearts. Beware 
Of my tatting to-day. 

So the lily fingers, entrancing flew, 
And the lustrous eyes were heavenly blue ; 
And the silken hair was shot with gold. 
Anil down in a golden glory rolled. 
Tatting that day. 



TA TTING. 



And she liacl her will on a gracious day. 
All clad in a cloud of white array : 
And I Ijless the day and the iierfunied air 
That kissed her cheek as she w ove her snar. 
Tatting that day. 



DOWN THE SWITCIU'.ACK, 

n.WII) I.. Sl'OUUFIT. 

(^^IDE by side wl- rode together, 

( )n a clear October day, 
Wliile the mountains crimson -crested 

Kejit a royal holiday. 
Down the Switchback from Mount Pisuali 

We went speeding o'er the hills, 
With the golden sunlight flashing 

Fi-oni the rippling mountain rills, 
But the flashing and the glinting. 

And the blue of autumn skies. 
Were but frosty in their beauty 

To the summer of her eyes. 
Side by side we rode together, 

And I did not dare to wait 
For she was seventeen, and I 

Was turned of forty-eight. 

So I whispered to her, " Darling 

Let us travel, side by side, 

Down the grade of Life's long Switchback. 

To the shoreless ocean's tide." 
ir,i 



DOir.v rnr. sn^rrcf/nACK 

15ut she looked away far over 

All the hills that lay between. 
To the distant, dim horizon, 

Aiul her eyes were loo serene 
As she said, " 1 like October, 

With its splendors of decay, 
lUit I like the springtime better, 

And the warm, sweet air of May. 
Tlins we travelled down the Switchback, 

Thus I trifled with my fate : 
i'or she was seventeen, and I 

Was turned of forty-eight. 



IF. 

JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE. 

/'^H, if the world were mine, Love, 
^-^^ I'd give tlie world for thee ! 
Alas ! there is no sign, Love, 
Of that contingency. 

Were I a king, — which isn't 

To be considered now, — 
A diadem had glistened 

Upon that lovely brow. 

Had fame with laurels crowned me, — 

She hasn't, up to date, — 
Nor time nor change had found me 

To love and thee ingrate. 

If Death threw down his gage, Love, 

Though life is dear to me, 
I'd die, e'en of old age. Love, 

To win a smile from thee. 

But being poor, we part, dear, 
And love, sweet love, must die ; 

Thou wilt not break thy heart, dear, 
No more, I think, shall 1 ! 

l6! 



DON'T. 

JAMES JKFFREY ROCHE. 

X/OUR eyes were made for laughter; 

Sorrow ijefits tlicni not; 
Would you he hlitlie hereafter, 
Avoid the lover's lot. 

The rose and lily blended 

Possess your cheeks so fair ; 
Care never was intended 
To leave his furrows there. 

Your heart was not created 

To fret itself away, 
Being unduly mated 

To common human clay. 

I5ut hearts were made for loving — 

Confound philoso])hy I 
Forget what I've been proving, 

Sweet Phyllis, and love me ! 



COQUETTE. 

HARRISON ROBERTSON. 

"/'^OQUETTE," my- love they sometimes call, 

For she is light of hps and heart : 
What though she smile alike on all, 
If in her smiles she knows no art ? 

Like some glad brook she seemes to be, 

That ripples o'er its pebbly bed, 
And prattles to each flower or tree, 

Which stoops to kiss it, overhead. 

Beneath the heavens white and blue 
It purls and smgs and laughs and leaps, 

Tlie sunny meadows dancing through 
O'er noisy shoals and frothy steeps. 

'Tis thus the world doth see the brook ; 

But I have seen it otherwise 
When following it to some far nook 

Where leafy shields shut out the skies. 

And there its waters rest, subdued. 

In shadowy pools, serene and shy, 
Wherein grave thoughts and fancies brood, 

And tender dreams and longings lie. 



COQUETTE. 

I love it when it laughs and leaps, 
But love is better when at rest — 

'Tis only in its tran(|uil deeps 
I see my image in its breast ! 



TWO TRIOLETS. 

HARRISON ROBERTSON. 

Whai he said. 

' I "'HIS kiss upon your fan I press — 

Ah ! Saintc Nitouche, you don't refuse it ! 
And may it from its soft recess — 
This kiss upon your fan I press — 
Be blown to you, a shy caress, 

By tliis white down, whene'er you use it. 
This kiss upon your fan I press, — 

Ah, Sainte Nitouche, you don''t refuse it ! 

What she thought. 
To kiss a fan ! 

What a poky poet ! 
The stupid man 
To kiss a fan 
When lie knows — that — he — can — 

Or ought to know it — 
To kiss a fan ! 

What a poky poet ! 



167 



APPROPRIATIOiV. 

HARRISON ROliKRTSON. 

/"~\ XIC day, one balmy "day of clays,' 

[ fortunately found licr 
I)(jun in the sweet old garden's nia^e. 

Hid by its bloom arounil her. 
She stood beneath the apple-tree. 

Against it idly leannig, 
Ciazing with eyes that did not see, 

A-dream with subtle meaning. 

She stood in snowy stuff betlight. 

Her lips a rose caressing, 
-Against the tree one nude and wiiitc 

Round arm her cheek was pressing. 
Rich-favored tree — its boughs above 

In flaky banks were blowing. 
Which, at tlie nearness of my love. 

In tender pink were glowing. 

1 paused, yet loth to spoil the scene. 

Content to thus adore her ; 
And lIuMi tJK- slirubliery between 

I made my way before her. 



.l/>/'K<}JU</ AT/ON. 

A slail— the slightest did it seem 
To ine — such was my greeting. 

Ah ! had I been part of that dream 
Which scarcely yet was Het'ting? 

" I come into your life, my dear, 

As in your dream," I told her. 
" I love you, and your ])lace is here " — 

" Here " being next my shoulder. 
Her place was tliere, her face was there 

Within her hands ail hidden; 
And on her rippling, sunny hair 

I pressed a kiss uncliidden. 

How sweet, among the apple-trees. 

The silent spell that bound us, 
Witli naught but languid bloom and bees 

And mating birds around us ! 
" You have not said you love me yel," 

At last I whispered to her. 
She raised her eyes — ah ! were they wet ?- 

And as I nearer drew her. 

Within their tender depths I read 

The answer I'd entreated ; 
No words of lips could have unsaid 

What those soft eyes repeated. 
And then, with coy, maternal air, 

She smiled and touched my forehead, 
" And, Jack, you must not comb your han- 

So high," she said — " it's horrid ! " 

lO 



If,y 



I'UK kllVMK 1)1- A FAX. 

I.I/.KITK WnoDW'iiKTH KliESK. 

T_)AI.\ r Aiuistiisiii as a saiiil ; 

I'ri.sci'.la as a Piiritaii. 
Ilolclini^ loiit^ lily-stalks ; but jiaiiit 
Dear Dolly with a fan ! 

It i.^ a page wh.Tcl'roin wc read 

Each word she has to say ; 
Leani who may come, and whi> must speed, 

And who may near her stay. 

It i-. a wall as stout as stone, 

Where sweet and cold of face, 
When 'tis her mood she sits alone 

Behind its frill of lace. 

'Tis covered thick with l)loss(jnis small 

Red-tinted like the morn ; 
.\nd he who'd dare to scale tli.it wall 

Would find each rose a thorn. 

.Vh, Dolly, iK.lly I we confess, 

.Vmoni;;st us all tJiure's not a man. 
])ut knows he's loved a liltlc less 

Than your ipiaint silken fan ! 

170 



A ROSEBUD. 

LIZKTTK WODDWORIH REESE. 

'yilE sad South lurks about her mouth. 

The North is in lier eyes ; 
She is the bough with l)loom of snow — 
The sweetest weather that we know- 
She is both warm and wise. 

The sad South tauLjht those tricks of fan. 

Those dainty, Ohl World ways ; 
And watching her, wc seem to be 
In Spain ; gray streets slip to the sea. 

And roofs are dim with haze. 

IJut, ah ! her eyes are .Saxon l;>lue ! 

S;) we must watch again ; 
Straightway the tall thorn hedges blow, 
The nightingales sing loud, sing low, 

TJown some dusk Devon lane. 

The secret's out. If South and North 

Be both at Maude's command, 

Is it great wonder she's so sweet, 

And sends us poor lads to her feet 

With one touch of her hand ? 



CLOE TO CLARA. 
(A Saratoga Letter.) 

JOHN G. SAXE. 

TAKAR (LARA : — I wish you wxrc here: 

TtiL- prettiest spot upon earth ! 
With everythinj^ charming, my (kar — 

l)jaux, badinage, music and mirth ! 
Such rows of magnificent trees. 

( )verhanging such beautiful walk>. 
Where lovers may stroll, if they please. 

And indulge i:i thj sweetest of talks I 

And then, what a gossiping sight I 

What talk abuut William ami Marry ; 
Mow Julia was spending last night ; 

\\\A -cohy Miss Morton should marry ; 
Dear Clara, Lve happened to see 

Full many a tea-table slaughter, 
IJut, really, scandal with tea 

Is nothing to scandal with water ! 

'Tis pleasant t(j guess at the reason — 
The genuine motive which brings 

Such all-sorts of folks in the season 
To stop a few days at the Springs. 

Somj come to partake of tlie waters. 
The sensible, (lid-tashioiietl elves, 



CLOE TO CLARA. 

Some come to ciisposu of thc-ir (laughters, 
And some to dispose of — themselves ! 

Some come to exhibit their faces 

To new and admiring beholders ; 
Some come to exhibit their graces, 

And some to exhibit their shoulders ; 
Some come to make people stare 

At the elegant dresses they've got ; 
Some to show what a lady may wear, 

And some — what a lady may not ! 

Some come to squander their treasure, 

And some their funds to improve ; 
And some for a mere love of pleasure, 

And some for the pleasure of love ; 
And some to escape from Jae old, 

And some to see what is new ; 
But most — it is plain to be told — 

Come here — because other folks do ! 

And that, I suppose, is the reason 
Why /am enjoying to-day 

What's called " the height— of the season" 
In rather the loftiest way. 

Good -by — for now I must stop- 
To Charley's command I resign — 

So I'm his for the regular hop, 
But ever most tenderly thine. 



'73 



A UKASOXAIiLK rETITION. 

JtillN G. SAXE. 

"\/'()U s;iy, dearest ^irl, you esteem nie, 

A::il hint uf respectful regard. 

And I'm certain it wouldn't beseem me 

Sueli an excellent gift ti> discird. 

l'>ut even the Graces, you'U own. 

Would lose half their bjauty ai)arl 

Ami I'",steem, when she stands all alo'i,- 

Looks most unbecomingly tart. 

So grant me, dear girl, this petition : — 
If I'stcem ere again should come hitlier, 

1 11 1 lo keep her in cheerful condition. 
Let Love come in company with h.r ' 
• 74 



TO A CHINESE IDOL. 

CLINTON SCOLLARD. 

/^NCE you ruled, a god divine, 
^^ In a sacred shady shrine, 
Near a river dark as wine, 

'Mid the trees ; 
And to you the mandarins. 
With their smooth unshaven chins, 
Prayed absolvence from their sins 

On their knees. 

Tiny-footed Chinese maids, 
With their raven hair in braids, 
Sought you in your quiet shades 

'Neath the boughs; 
Haply for a thousand years 
You liehekl their smiles nnd tears, 
Listened to their hopes and fears 

And their vows. 

Now above her escritoire 
In my lady's pink boudoir, 
Evev dumbly pining for 

Lost repose. 



176 TO A CHINESE IDOL. 

You sit stolid, day by day, 
With your clieeks so thin and gray, 
Stony eyes and rctroiissi 
Little nose. 

Where the sunliglit glinteth o'er 
Persian rug and pohshed floor, 
You will frown forevcrmore, 

Grim as hate; 
A divinity cast down, 
Having neither shrine nor crown, 
Once a god, but now a brown 

I'aper-weight I 



AT THE LETTER-BOX. 

CLINTON SCOLLARD. 

/'^LAD in the gem of frocks, 
^^ By the green letter-box, 
With her short wavy locks 

Bound by no fetter, 

Musing I see her stand, 
Raise her arm slowly, and 
Drop from a slender hand 

One little letter. 

I can't acquaintance claim. 
Know not her tender name, 
Yet will my fancy frame 

Romances of her. 

That the neat billet-doux. 
Perfumed — of creamy hue, 
So lately lost to view 

Is to her lover. 

Somehow I seem to feel 
That he made strong appeal, 
Said he'd be "true as steel," 

Ever her " Harry " 

'77 



173 AT THE LETTER-BOX. 

But that slie bade liim wait, 
Called him precipitate, 
Hinted her happy fate — 

Never to marry. 

Tliis is her answer. This, 
Weighted with woe or bliss 
(Much in parenthesis 

Many lines under). 

Borne from its dark recess, 
Soon will its all confess ; 
Will it be " no," or " yes? " — 

Which one, I wonder ? 



10" 



ROSE LEAVES. 

CLINTON SCOLLARD. 

^ A /I THIN this fragile urn by chance 

I found them, void of scent and faded, 
Reminders of a sweet romance 
That budded, bloomed, and died as ihey did. 

The years have flown in swallow flight 
Since last we met, and I incensed h-cr ; 

Her eyes have lost their laughing light, 
And Time has long conspired against her. 

Here let them He — the once admired — 

A food for idle contemplation. 
Dead as the passion tliey inspired, 

The ashes of an old flirtation. 



AT TIIK CHURCH DOUR. 

HENRY li. SMITH. 

ALICE has gone to confession. 
Wliat has the girl to confess .•" 
What little idle transgression 
Causes my sweetheart distress ? 
Is it lier fondness for dress 
That needs a priest's intercession, 
And brings that pensive expression 
Into her eyes' loveliness ? 
What has the maid to confess ? 

Is it some little flirtation, 

Ending perhaps in a kiss ? 
Mine be the sin's expiation, 

If I but shared in its bliss. 

Is it a trifle like this, 
Seeking its justification ? 
Was it a rash exclamation 

Some one has taken amiss ? 

Was it a trifle like this ? 

She who lives always so purely 
Cannot so gravely transgress. 

One who can smile so demurely 
Cannot have much to confess. 



AT THE CHVRCH DOOR. 

Let me for pardon address, 

For I am guiltier, surel}'. 

Sin your small sins, then, securely 
If it is I that they bless. 
Mine be the task to confess. 



>8i 



MV .MAUSOLEUM. 

HKNKV li. SMITH. 

I T is a crypt, this cabinet ; 
* A love alTair is buried here ; 
Its requiem a faint regret, 

And scented letters for a bier. 
Its wreaths, dead roses interlaced 

With memories of ball awA/e/e, 
While for a headstone I have placed 

A portrait in a paper-weight. 

Here lie, as ashes in an urn, 

.•\ verse or two I learned to quite, 
The notes 1 liad no heart to l)urn. 

Our letters, — what a lot we wrote ! — 
A silken tre.^s of sunny strands, 

\ ribbon that I used to prize, 
A glove, — she had such tiny hands, — 

.V miniature with deep, dark eyes. 

'Tis with a smile I view to-day 

The relics in this cabinet. 
When Love is dead and laid .away 

Wc mourn a little, then forget. 
The verses rpiite have left my mind. 

Her rose, her glove, her |>itliired eyes, 
Her letters, are to dust consigned , 

Their filling epiiajih, " Here — //.v." 

I8- 



A MARRIAGE A LA MODE. 

HENRY l;. SMITH. 

[I AVE you liLarcl whai they are saying 
* * O'er the wahmts and the wine, 
Secrets eagerly betraying 

Abjut your affairs and mine ? 
Foe.; and friends receive attention 

From each chatting beau and belle, 
And they casually mention 

That Marie has " married well." 

" Married well ! " Ah, that's expressive, 

And from it we understand 
That the bridegroom has excessive 

Stores of ducats at command. 
Is he good ? He lias his vices ! 

Has he brains ? We scarce can tell. 
Handsome ? Hardly ! It suffices, 

If Marie has married well. 

Does she love him ? Love's a passion, 

Childish in this latter day. 
She will dress in height of fashion, 

And her bills he'll promptly pay. 
Does he love her ? Wildly, madly ! 

Since he bought his trotter "Nell," 
He lias welcomed naught as gladly ; 

Yes, Marie has married well. 



i84 A MAKR/AGE A LA MODE. 

Is she happy ? That's a trifle ; 

Happiness is bought and sold ; 
And s!;e readily can stifle 

Love she used to know of old. 
Well she knows a heart is broken ; 

As for her's — she cannot tell ; 
But her bridal vows are spoken, 

And Marie has married well. 

In this game one should give h^pding 

To the stakes, not gentle arts; 
And, when diamonds are leading, 

Where's the use of playing hearts ? 
I congratulate her gladly ; 

But the wish I can't dispel 
That most girls may marry badly, 

If Marie has married well. 



AT BAR HARBOR. 

S. DECATUR SMITH. 

'T^IiEY accuse me of flirting with Harry, 

4 Who hasn't a cent to his name, 
And certainly don't mean to marry ; 

Such slander's a sin and a shame. 
They say I've been often seen walking 

With Harry alone on the rocks ; 
We've been seen on the sand sitting talking, 

Regardless of custom — and frocks. 
They say we were walking together 

The day of that trip to the lake ; 
And our losing our way in the heather, 

They're certain was not a mistake. 

At Rodick's, they frequently mention, 
When laughter is noisy and loud. 

We, with care to attract no attention, 
Slip quietly off from the crowd. 

One nasty old tabby's reported 

She saw him one evening last week 

(Good gracious ! how truth is distorted !) 
Press a kiss on my too-willing cheek. 



AT BAR HARBOR 

Such stories as these are invention ; 

The truth in them simply is nil. 
If I have done the things that tliey mention, 

It wasnU \\\\.\\ Harry — 'twas Will! 



A WOMAN'S WEAPONS. 

S. DECATUR SMITH. 

'TpHERE'S a smile, and a glance, and a blush, and a sigli 

' And perhaps, on occasion, a tear ; 
Tiiere's a delicate touch of a hand, on the sly, 
And a flower she may wear when /u'''s near ; 

There's a note in her voice that but one may awake. 
And a gleam in her blue (or brown) eye ; 

There's a kiss on her hp that some fellow may take 
(Now why the deuce isn't it I ?) ; 

There's the tur]i of ai ankle, the size of a waist. 

And the way that she does up her hair ; 
There's the fit of a glove, and, according to taste, 

The tint of the dress she may wear ; 

There are words that are often but semi-expressed, 

And some are hid others below ; 
For instance, a " yes " may be frequently guessed 

Through a clearly reversible " no." 

Yet her infinite change is her strongest of arms. 
As the song says, " Fcinine souvent varic ; " 

But what does she want with such numberless charms, 
When one of them finishes me ? 
II* 137 



AN OLD GLOVE. 

DE WITT STERRY. 

POND girl, these tiny slips of kid 
Once your dear, dimpled digits hid, 

And to your elbow pretty 
They climbed without the least alarm ; 
Or was it that they thought your arm 

The fairest in the city ? 

One finger's gone — the middle right : 
I use it, dear, when I indite 

My rhymes by yellow tapers, 
To shield my finger-nail from ink ; 
How would you fare if you — just think !- 

Lived on the comic papers ? 

That night ! Can I forget that night ? 
Again I sec the candlelight, 

And hear rlie rippling laughter ; 
How many plates I passed between 
The openings in that tenkwood screen ! 

How soon 1 followed after I 

I knew you feigned that stern surprise, 
I knew it by your twinkling eyes ; 

Hesidcs, you know yuur chatter 

1 88 



AN OLD GLCH'E. 

Fell on a fascinated car 
That time I bent my lips — my dear, 
I'll never breathe the matter. 

But I've grown careless of my loves, 
And am as bad at crossing gloves 

As turning off a sonnet. 
The sight of it just made me grow 
A trifle warm, my dear, and so 

I penned these verses on it. 



BALLADE OF BARRISTERS. 

(Jrregiilar. ) 
C. C. SrARK\VEArHi:K. 

'"T^O the shy, sweet face tliat I saw this morning. 

* I toss this kiss from my window-sill, 
And mayhap my j^iartncr will give me warning 

If I shove not (juicker my gray goose-quill. 

I've twenty folios yet to fill. 
So it's Blue Eyes, Down ! till this deed is drawn ; 
For Maiden Lane's not a lover's lawn, 

And the rattle of Broadway never is still. 

I'^om seal and ])r.rchment and dust-covered papers. 
My thoughts fly Uack to her — w//// nil. 

1 lunch at Cable's on laml) and capers, 
And a secret bu'.n]ier I drain with Phil, 
And I smile when he leaves me to pay the bill. 

Oh, it's Blue Eyes, Down ! till this deed is drawn ; 

For Maiden Lane's not a lover's lawn, 
And the rattle of Broadway never is still. 



BALLADE OF BARR/STEKS. tf, 

My office is no conservatory ; 

Its walls are like blanks for a clerk to fill ; 
liut that mignonette, jasmine, and morning-glory 

The charms of a whole hot-house would kill — 

In the white vase there, on the window-sill. 
Hut it's Blue Eyes, Down ! till this deed is drawn ; 
For Maiden Lane's not a lover's lawn. 

And the rattle of Broadway never is still. 



Barristers ! with brief-bags to fill, 

It's Blue Eyes, Down !till the deeds are drawn ; 

For Maiden Lane's not a lover's lawn, 
And the rattle of F)roadway never is still. 



RIVALS. 

C. C. STARKWEATHF.R. 

JENNY, how mnny songs you've chased away! 
To love, I own, is better far than singing. 
A host of rhymes surrendered, dear, to-day. 
Or perished in a peal of laughter ringing. 

For how am I, l)y any dreamt-of means. 
To write an Ode to Progress while you're smiling ? 

Or tell of orange-groves, or dreamy scenes 

Of distant climes, with your sweet voice beguiling? 

I've seen the Attic marbles' tinted grace. 
And swung in hammocks 'neath a palace rafter. 

But can I match a temple with your face, 
Or weep for Pan before your mocking laughter? 

If Pan is dead, you're very much alive ! 

And my rapt flights you are forever stopping! 
I must be wary if I'd fill my hive, 

.•\ndwoothe Muse when you have gone out shopping! 



PROVENCAL LOVERS. 

(Aucassin and A^icollctte.) 

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. 

VUITHIN the garden oi Bcaucaire 
He met her l)y a secret stair ; — 

The night was centuries ago, 
Said Aucassin, " My love, my pet, 
These old confessors vex me so ! 
They threaten all the pains of hell 
Unless I give you up, ma bcIlc ; " — 
Said Aucassin to Nicollette. 

'• Now who should there in Heaven be 
To fill your place, w« /r/s douce mie ? 
To reach that spot I little care ! 
There all the droning priests are met ; 
All the old cripples, too are there 
That unto shrines and altars cling 
To filch the Peter-pence we bring ; "— 
Said Aucassin to Nicollette. 

" There are the barefoot monks and friars 
With gowns well-tattered by the briers. 
The saints who lift their eyes and whine : 
I like them not — a starveling set ! 
Who'd care with folks like these to dine ? 
193 



TIk- dIIict road 'twere just a ; wcU 
That you a:ul I should take, in:i liL'lle ! " 
Said A'.icassin to Nicolcttc. 

' ' To Purgatory I would gi > 
With pleasant comrades whom we know, 
Fair scholars, minstrels, lusty Knights 
Whose deeds the land will not forget, 
The captains of a hundred fights. 
True men of valor and degree : 
Will join that gallant company." — 
Said Aucassin to Nicollette. 

•• There, too, arc guests and JDvaiic.- rare. 
And li^autcous ladies delionair, 
The pretty dames, the merry brides 
Who witli their wedded lords coquette 
And liave a friend or two besides — 
Aid all in gold and trappings gay. 
With furs, and crests in vairand gray ; " — 
Said Aucassin to Nicnllete. 

■■ Sweet players on the cithern strings 
And they who roam the world like kings 
Arc gathered there so blithe and free ! 
Pardie ! I'd join them now. my ]iet. 
If you went also, wu dome niir .' 
The joys of heaven I'd forego 
To have you with me there below." — 
S.iid .\ncassin to .XicoUcttc. 



TOUJOURS AMOUR. 

EDMUND CLARENCli STEDMAN. 

pRITHEE tell mc, Dimple-Chin 
At what age does Love begin ? 
Your blue eyes have scarcely seen 
Summers three, my fairy queen ; 
But a miracle of sweets, 
Soft approaches, sly retreats, 
Show the little Archer there, 
Hidden in your pretty hair : 
When did'st learn a heart to win ? 
Prithee tell me, Dimple-Chin ! 

" (.)h ! " the rosy lips reply, 
" I can't tell you if I try. 

'Tis so long I can't remember ; 
Ask some younger lass than 1 ! " 

Tell, O tell me. Grizzled -Face 
Do your heart and head keeji pace ? 
When does hoary I-ove expire. 
When do frosts put out the fire ? 
Can its emiiers burn below 
195 



ufo rOUJOir/iS AMOUR. 

All that chill DccemhtT snow ? 
Care you still soft hands to press, 
Bonny heads to smoothc and bless ? 
When docs Love give \\\> the chase ? 
Tell, O tell me, (Inzzle.l-Face ! 

•• Ah ! " the wise old lips reply. 

"Youth may pass and streni^th may die ; 
Hut of Love I can't foretoken : 

Ask some older sage than I ! '" 



PA>s IN WALL STREET. 

KDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAK. 

JUST where the Treasury's niarl:>le front 
Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations 
Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont 

To throng for trade and last quotations ; 
Where, nour by hour, the rates of gold 

Outrival, in the ears of people, 
The quarter chimes, serenely tolled 
From Trinity's luidauntcd steeple, — 

Even here I heard a strange, wild strain 

Sound high above the modern clamor. 
Above the cries of greed and gain. 

The curbstone war, the auction's hammer ; 
And swift on Music's misty ways, 

It led, from all this strife of millions, 
To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days 

Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians. 

And as it stilled the multitude. 

And yet more joyous rose, and shriller, 

I saw the minstrel where he stood 
At ease against a Doric pillar : 



.-98 PA!^ IN U^ALL STREET. 

One hand ;i droning organ played, 

The other held a Pan's-pipe (fashioned 

Like those of old) to lips that made 

The reeds give out that strain impassioned. 

Twas Pan himself had wandered here 

A-strolling through this sordid city, 
And piping to the civic ear 

The prelude of some pastoral diltv ! 
The demi-god had crossed the seas — 

From haunts of shepherd, nymph, and satyr, 
And Syracusan times- -to these 

Far shores and twenty centuries later. 

A ragged cap was on his head ; 

Put — hidden thus — there was no doubting 
That, all with crispy locks o'crsjiread. 

His gnarled horns w:;re somewlu-re sproutiii \ 
His club-feet, caicd in rusty shoes. 

Were crossed, as on some frieze you see them, 
And trousers, patched of divers hues. 

Concealed his crooked shank> b;?neath them. 

He fiHjd the (piivering reeds witii sound. 

.\ii(l o'er his mouth their changes shifted. 
•Vnd with his goat's eyes looked around 

Where'er the passing current drifted : 
And soon, as on Trinacrian hills 

The nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear him, 
Fvi'ii now the tradesmen from their tills. 

Willi clerk'^ and )>orters. croWiK'il near him. 



PAN /.V n^-lLL STKK1£T. 

The hulls and hears toi^cther drew 

From Jaiinsey Court and New Street Alley, 
As erst, if pastorals he true. 

Came beasts from every wootled valley : 
The i-andom passers stayed to list — 

A boxer /Egon, rough and merry, 
A Broadway Daphnis, on his tryst 

With Nais at the Brooklyn ferry. 

A one-eyed Cyclops halted long 

In tattered cloak of army pattern. 
And Galatea joined the throng, — 

A blowzy, apple-vending slattern ; 
While old Silenus staggered out 

From some new-fangled lunch-house har.dy, 
And hadj tlu pip^r, with a shout. 

To strike up Yankee Doodle Dandy I 

A newsboy and a peanut girl 

Like little Fauns began to caper ; 
His hair was all in tangled curl, 

Her tawny legs were bare and taper ; 
And still the gathering larger grew. 

And gave its pence and crowded nigher. 
While aye the shepherd -minstrel blew 

His pipe, and struck the gamut higher. 

O heart of Nature, beating still 

With throbs her vernal passion taught her 



PAX JX II -ALL STREET. 

Even licrc, as on the vine-clad hill, 

Ur by tlic Arethusan water I 
New forms may fold the speech, new lands 

Arise within these ocean-portals 
lint Music waves eternal wands, — 

Enchantress of the souls of mortals ! 

So thought I — but among us trod 

A man in blue, v/ith legal baton, 
And scoffed the vagrant demi-god, 

And pushed him from the step I sat on. 
Doubting I mused upon the cry, 

" Great Pan is dead ! "—and all the jjcopie 
Went on their ways : — and clear and high 

The quarter sounded from the steeple. 



FRENCH WITH A MASTER. 

THEtlUOKE TILTON. 

yEACH you French ? I will, my dear 

Sit and con your lesson here, 
What did Adam say to Eve ? 
Ai/)ur, aiiiwr ; c\'st a vivrc. 

Don't pronounce the last word long ; 
Make it short to suit the song ; 
Rhyme it to your flowing sleeve, 
Ainur, aintrr .- c\'st a vivrc. 

Sleeve I said, but what's the haim 
It I really meant your arm ? 
Mine shall twine it by your leave, 
Aiiiu-r, aitncr ; c^st a vivre. 

Learning French is full of slips ; 
Do as I do with the lips ; 
Here's the right way, you perceive, 
Aii/hr, aimer ; t\'st a vivr,\ 



20 r 



FKEXCH WITH A MASTER. 

I'Vciich is always spoken best 
IJrcatliins^ tk'cply from the chest ; 
Darling, does your bosom heave ? 
Aiiiii-r. aimer ; c\-st a vivre. 

Now, my dainty little sprite, 
1 lave I taught your lesson right ." 
Then what pay shall I receive ? 
Aimer., aimer ; c^ est a vivre. 

Will you think me overbold 
It I linger to be told 
Whether you yourself believe 
Aimer, aimer ; e'esi a vivre / 

Pretty pupil, when you say 
All this French to me to-ilay, 
Do you mean it, or deceive ? 
Aimer, aimer ; c'est a xnvre. 

Tell me, may I understand, 
When I press your little hand. 
That our hearts together cleave ? 
Aimer, aimer ; e\'si a 7'/rvv. 

Have you in your tresses room 
For some orange buds to bloom, 
May I such a garland weave ? 
Aimer, aimer ; e'est n vivre. 



FRKXCH imril A MASTER. 

< )r, it I presume too much, 
Teiichiag French by sense of touch, 
(irant me pardon and reprieve ! 
Aiiiwr^ aimer ; c'cst a 7)ivrc. 

Sweetheart, no 1 you cannot go ! 
Let me sit and hold you so ; 
Adam did the same by Eve — 
AinuT, aimer ; c\'st a vivrc. 



LE GRENIKR— American Vkrsk.w. 

'• Dans nil gnmic-r tjn'on est l>icn a vivi^t nns/'' 

IJekancer. 

KUliERTSON TRi )\VHRII)(;E. 

T TKRI'^ is tlic street — the house is slaiuliiii^ yet ' 

Four stories up the httle wiiulow i;le;ims. 
The l)asemeiit still announces " Rooms to Let ; " 

Throuijh the wide door the dusty sunli;^'ht streams. 
Uut how the place has chant^ed I Across the way 

A tenement its swarminif bulk uprears— 
'I'was here I weathered it for many a day. 

With Youtli and IIo})e for friends, at Twenty Years. 



A small hall-room ! I seek it half by stealth — 

Who cares ? the world may know it if it will ! 
The worst is told. 1 had stout heart, good hea!ll\ 

A modest clerkship, wants more modest still ; 
Companions, too (I had companions then !) — 

What room in all my " up-town jialace " hears 
Such peals of mirth as yonder little den 

When T and Youth kept house, at Twenty Years ! 

204 



LE GRENIKR 2 

'Twas here I lirought my bride. In that dim place 

The too brief summer of our joy first smiled. 
Which of your carpet-knights, my queenly Grace, 

To such a lot will woo your mother's child ? 
Just powers ! how dared we to be gay and glad. 

To face the world, unvexed by cramping fears ? 
Rash? — reckless ? We were mad ! — -how nobly mad 

With the brave wine of Love and Twenty Years ! 

Once, as we listened at the window there, 

In the warm sunlight of an April day, 
iV sound of loyal thunder filled the air — 

The Massachusetts Si.xth marched down Broadway. 
O gallant hearts and times ! (J drum and fife ! 

In '62 I joined the volunteers. 
Poor wounded soldier, lonely waiting wife, 

We learned what glory meant, at Twenty Years ! 

It's time to go. The place looks chill and drear. 

Fate ! were it lot of mine to overlive 
But half the happy days I've counted here, 

I'd give — what have I that I would not give ? — 
Again to struggle on, to breast the tide. 

To know the worst of Fortune's frowns and fleers, 
Brave heart within, my darling by my side. 

And all the world to win, at Twenty Years ! 



UNDERSTOOD. 



EDITH SESSIONS Tll'rF.K. 



He Speaks. 
T)AINTED and perfumed, feathered and pink, 

Here is your ladyship's fan. 
You gave it to me to hold, I think, 
While you danced with another man. 

Downy and soft like your flufly hair. 

I'ink like your delicate face, 
The perfume you carry everywhere 

Wafted from feathers and lace. 

//.• rhinki. 
I'ainted and pcrlumed, dainty ami pink, 

A toy to Ijc handled with care ; 
It is like your ladyship's self I think. 

A trifle light as air. 

l'"iir you are a wunderlul triumph nt art. 

Like a Dresden statuette ; 
Hut you cannot make havoc in my i)oor heart, 

You iiuiocent- faced coquette. 

l'"i>r I understand those enticing ways 

You practice on every man ; 
You are only a hit of paint and lace 

Like that delicate toy — your fan. 



TO A JAPANESE BABY. 

HENRY TYRRELL. 

WOU dwell in a dove-cote, where tinkle 
The ornaments hung from the eaves, 
Strange trees shade it ; blossoms besprinkle 
The dark plumy leaves. 

Tea-garden and temple and fountain. 
From out the wide window you view ; 

And yonder, the snow-crested mountain 
High up in the blue. 

On bending your baby eyes nearer, 

Where slumbers the still-watered moat, 

You watch, like rose leaves on a mirror. 
The lotos blooms float. 

Your face is as brown as a berry. 

In outline as round as a rose ; 
Black slits of eyes, wakefully merry, 

Slant down to your nose. 

Your head, like a friar's, is shaven — 
How droll ! not a hair can one find. 

Except the tuft, black as a raven, 
That's twisted behind. 



TO A JAPANESE BABY. 

Around your form airily flutter 

Fantastic and bright-colored " things " ; 

Vou look like a gorgeous, rare butter- 
Fly, resting its wings. 

You've soft mats to romp on and tumble ; 

Of furniture, though, there's not much ; 
No breakage, to make grown folks grumble ■ 

No caution, " Don't touch ! " 

Your world is so simple and sunny. 
So pleasing and quaint to the eye — 

No wonder your plump face grows funny, 
But never can cry. 

We love you. Babe Bric-a-brac, dearly, 
Though ne'er have we been to Japan ; 

We know your wee dimpled face — merely 
Through this painted fan. 



MITTENS. 

HENRY TYRRELL. 

pURE frost winds, on the winter's eve, 

You play among my lady's tresses, 
And pink as apple-bloom you leave 

The cheeks that take your light caresses ; 
But from her Httle hands begone ! 

By you they'll not be kissed nor bitten, 
For over each is snugly drawn — 

A tiny pale-blue mitten. 

The slender, perfume-haunted glove, 

Erstwhile that hid her lily fingers. 
Is not the shield that most they love, 

Whereon a pressure honest lingers. 
More shy, confiding, tender, true. 

And softer than two curled-up kittens, 
Are those dear dainty twins of blue. 

My lady's little mittens. 

Once at the play, when lights were low, 

And down had dropped the great green curtain, 

I took her hand; we turned to go; 

Her fingers clasped o'er mine, I'm certain. 

209 



MITTENS 

That sudden thrill I feel again, 
That never could be told or written, 

Whene'er I see or touch, as then, 
Her downy little mitten. 

Some memories those mittens hold, 

And secrets, might one coax confession, 
Ah, dearer than a gage of gold 

I'd count if I could gain possession ; 
Yet ask her I shall never dare. 

Nor tell her how my heart is smitten. 
For fear, in answer to my prayer. 

She might " give me the mitten." 



MIS- MATCHED. 

HENKY TYRRELL. 

QNCE -'twas years ago- I f„u„d nie 

Moved by magic strange ; 
All accustomed earth around me, 

Dreamlike, felt the change. 
Berthe was fair. I learned to love her 

As a flower might do — 
For a moment's fondness of her 

Fain had withered, too, 
Such love, love does not discover ; 

And she never knew. 
Though to none could she be dearer, 
Though my heart was far sincerer 

Than the hearts of men, 
What could come of all this loving ? 
I was only ten. 

Other eyes, full-orbed and tender. 

Drop their curtains fine 
With a timid half surrender, 

Now, at glance of mine. 



M/S-MA TCHED. 

Praise, that elsewhere I seek vainly, 

Tempts a soft reply, 
Or she says, " I like you," plainly ; 

Edith is not shy. 
I but jest and laugh inanely. 

Or repress a sigh. 
Yes, I throw away the treasure 
(Not without a sense of pleasure, 

And a touch of pain). 
Wliat can come of all this loving ? 
She is onlv ten. 



"TETE MORNING AFTER." 

HAROLD VAN SANTVOORl). 

I HEARD a rustle in the hall, 

Where erst we stood 'mid waning tapers 
She met me in her breakfast-shawl, 

Her crimps all twisted in curl-papers ; 
The night before she looked a queen 
. In satin sheen and flufify laces. 
But now just where the rouge had been 
Har powder-puff had left its traces. 

Beneath the blazing chandelier 

I felt so shy and she so wary, 
My brain reeled with a sudden fear 

That she might prove a lissome fairy 
And vanish in a golden dream, 

On gauzy wings, if zephyrs wooed her, 
Away from aught that she might deem 

Tlie hateful bane of gross intruder. 

Alas ! a tantalizing shade, 

A cheat, she was, a vain delusion ! 
Is beauty ever thus to fade ? 

My mind has reached this sad conclusion. 
" Oh, face of nature, always true," 

The poet sang who never chaffed her ; 
But, lovely women, ye are few 

Whose faces lure " the morning after." 



HER FIRST TRAIN. 

A. E. WATROUS. 

\/i USES and Graces appear ! 

Fountain Pierian flow I 
Greuzc in tiie spirit be near 1 

Aid me, O shade of Watteau I 
Ancients and moderns a-row. 

Strike me your worthiest strain. 
Little my theme do I know — 

'Tis the young lady's First Train. 

Ah ! in my heart there is fear, 

Cliill in its coming as snow ; 
She who approacheth me here, 

Stately and sweeping and slow — 
Could I iiavc romped with her ? No. 

This duchess ? oh, dream most profane! 
All that was decades ago — 

'Tis tiie young lady's First Train. 
a«4 



HER FIRST TRAIN. 

How shall I suit her? It's clear 

Battledore, racquet, and how 
liarrcd arc and banned. In this sphere, 

Certes, I'm somewhat de Irop; 
Still, we accustomed may grow, 

Standing-ground common regain, 
Even if — presage of woe ! — 

'Tis the young lady's First Train. 

l'envoi. 
Comrades, to friend and to foe 

Thus my changed jjcaring explain. 
Say : " If auglu's turned him a beau, 

'Tis ihe young lady's First Train." 



OLD BOHEMIANS. 

A. E. WATROUS. 

r? HEU fugaccs ! wlicrc are they ? 
The creeping day, the flying night, 
The warmth, the color, clamor, light — 

Friend of the scythe and liour-glass say 

Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? 

Eiieu fugaces I where are they ? 

The songs we sang, the cups we quaffed. 
The eyes that shone, the lips that laughed — 

Old mower, went they by your way ? 

Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? 

Elieu fugaces ! where are they ? 

The lights that lined the lonely street, 
When lionieward tripped tlie dainty feet 

That fled against the glance of day — 

Elieu fugaces ! where are they ? 

Eheu fugaces ! where are they 

Who walked the ward, who trod tiie court ? 

Stout fellows all for toil or sport ; 
Ah, who shall break then he shall pay — 
Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? 
216 



OLD BOHEMIANS. 2 

Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? 

The old jaw drops, the old veins freeze; 

And where is Lil and where's Louise, 
Whose kisses made a " yes " of " nay "— 
Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? 

Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? 

We've made our running, tossed our dice. 
And Time's are loaded. In a trice 

Perhaps a year, perhaps a day — 

They'll ask : " The garrulous and gray, 

Eheu fugaces ! where are they ? " 



iii:k na.mk was fki.ick. 

ClIARl.ES IIE.NRV WEIil'.. 

"\]17IIKN soft and sweet the sunuucr mo 

Smiled down, and all was peace. 
An(.l every pul.se of mine kept tune, 
I learned her name — Felice. 

J-'irst on the beaeli. then in the lirine, 
(Some thought it was my niece) 

She laid her little hand in mine. 
And said she was — Felice. 

.Vnd all who sat along the shore 
.\nd \\atched the tide's increase, 

JviR-w I was Felix, o'er and o'er, 
1 )id they thiids her— Felice ? 

Still swinL;^ on high the self-same moon 
Still all around seems peace, 

Still sit I on the sandy dune. 
Hut where is she — Felice? 

The summer moon still swings on high- 
Oh, summer, must you cease? 

Infelicissimus am I ? 
Uut she is still — Felice. 

2lS 



DISCARDED. 



CHARLES HENRY WElii: 



T AST night I lay on her breast ; 

To-day 1 liu at her feet ; 
Then to her heart I was pressed ; 
Now you tread on me, sweet I 

Ah, hghtly as possible pray — 
(irace tor your rose of last night ! 

It' perhaps I look faded to-day, 

Are you quite so fresh in this light ? 

And, though niee of you dropping that tear, 

There are some who may think it my due- 
Did it never occur to you, dear. 

That the flower may have wearied of you? 

2ig 



IN A r,AV -WINDOW. 

CHARLES UlCNKY WEIil;. 

A II, yes, there's a change in the weather ; 

It does look a little Uke snow — 

Though in this recess it seems summer. 

And around us these red ruses blow. 

There is scarcely a theme we've nwt touched nn- 

Secluded. but talking at large 
From the latest lyric of Locker 

To the very last freak of Lafarge. 

And now it has come to the weather — 
As you say, there's a feeling of snow ; 

r.ul do you not think it was warmer 
In this window one winter ago ? 

Whose landscape, that one near the curtain ? 

It is good ? I really don't know ; 
I am thinking instead of the picture 

Seen then where lhe.se Jac<|uemini>is blow. 



IN A BA y-WI\DOn' 

lust tlic same sweet pidtiision of roses, 

A l.uly, a silken divan, 
A vase — was it WedsrewiKxl or jMinton ? — 

And a gentleman Iiolding a tail. 

Was the talk llien ot art and the weather ? 

Who could say ? for their voices wert; low ; 
But none then who saw them together 

Thought it looked in the slightest like snow. 

Must I look at that thing on the easel ? — 
Naughty nymph, and a bad Rouguereau ! 

But you plainly prefer any picture 

To the one whose eacli detail you know. 

You think it unwise to recall things? 

Unwise ! It is wrong, on my life I 
The weather's so different this winter — 

You are married — and I^have a wite. 

Around us the same crimson curtains. 
Just as warmly the Jacqueminots glow ; 

But I feel the same chill that you speak of — 
In the air there is certainly snow ! 



THK DUET. 

KLLA WHEELER WILCOX. 

1 WAS smoking a cigarette ; 

Maud, my wife, and the tenor McKey 
Were singing together a blithe duel, 
And days it wore better I should forget 

Came suddenly back to me: 
Days when life seemed a gay masque ball, 
And to love and be loved was the sum of it all. 

As they ^ang t(jgether, the whole scene fled, — 

The room's rich hangings, the sweet home air. 

Stalely Maud, with her proud blonde head. 

And I seemed to see in her ])lace instead 
A wealth of blue black hair, 

■Vnd a face, ah ! your face, — yours, Lisette, 

A face it were wiser I should forget. 

We were back — well, no matter when or where; 

l!ut you reniendjcr, 1 know, LisLtte — 
1 saw you, dainty and debonnairc, 
Willi the very same look that you used t" wear 

In the days I should foiget ; 
.\n<l your lips, as red as the vintage we f|ualled. 
Were [learl-cdgcd bumpers of wine when you laughed. 



THE DUET. 

Two small slippers with jjig rosettes 

Peeped out under your kilt skirt there, 
While we sat smoking our cigarettes, 
(Oh, I shall be dust when my heart forgets!) 

And singing the self-same air ; 
And between the verses for interlude, 
I kissed your throat, and your shoulders nude. 



You were so full of a subtle fire. 

You were so warm and so sweet, Lisette ; 
You were everything men admire, 
And there were no fetters to make us tire, 

For you were — a pretty grisette; 
But you loved, as only such natures can, 
With a love that makes heaven or hell for a man. 



They have ceased singing that old duet, 
Stately Maud and the tenor McKey. 
" You are burning your coat with your cigarette, 
And (jn'avez voits, dearest, your lids are wet," 

Maud says, as she leans o'er me; 
And I smile, and lie to her, husbandwise, 
"Oh, it is nothing but smoke in my eyes." 



223 



ILLOGICAL. 

ELLA WHEELEK WILCOX. 

QUE stood beside mc when I gave 
an order for a bonnet. 

She shuddered when I said, " And put 

a brii^ht l>ird's wing upon it. 



A nieml)er of the i\udul)Oii 

Society was she ; 
And cutting were her comments made 

on worldly folks like me. 

She spoke about the helpless birds 

we wickedly were harming 

She quoted the statistics, and 

they really Tccrc alarming. 

Slie said God meant his little birds 

to sing in trees and skies : 

And there was pathos in her voice. 

and tears w ere in her eyes. 



ILLOGICAL. 

" Oh, surely in tliis beauteous world 

you can find lovely things 

Enough to trim your hats," she said, 

■'without the dear liirds' wings.' 

1 sat beside her that same day, 

in her own house at dinner — 
Angelic being that she was 

to entertain a sinner. 

Her well-appointed table groaned 

beneath the ample spread. 

Course followed appetizing course, 
and hunger sated fled ; 

But still my charming hostess urged, 

" Do have a reed bird, dear, 

They are so delicate and sweet 

at this time of the year." 



HER BONNET. 

MARY E. WILKINS. 

A A /HEN meeting-bells began to toll, 

And pious folk begnn to pass, 
She deftly tied her l)onnet on, 
The little, sober meeting lass, 
All in her neat, white-curtained room, before licr lin^ 
looking-glass. 

So nicely, round her lady-checks, 
So smoothed her bands of glossy hair. 
And innocently wondered if 
Her bonnet did not make her fair — 
Then sternly chid her foolish heart for harboring such 
fancies there. 

So square she tied the satin strings, 
And set the bows beneath her chin ; 
Then smiled to see how sweet she looked ; 
Then thought her vanity a sin. 
And she must jnit such thoughts away before the sermon 
should begin. 

22C 



^ HER BONNET. 227 

But, sitting 'neath the preached Word, 
Demurely in her father's pew, 
She thought about her bonnet still,— 
Yes, all the parson's sermon through, — 
About its pretty bows and buds which better than 
the text she knew. 

Vet sitting there with peaceful face, 
The reflex of her simple soul, 
She looked to be a very saint — 
And maybe was one, on the whole — 
Only that her pretty bonnet kepi' away the aureole. 



Finis. 




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